


Stan-at-Home

by The Last Speecher (HeidiMelone)



Series: Stanley McGucket [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Children, Domestic, F/M, Family, Gen, Grunkle Ford Has Issues, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Stan is Best Dad, Trans Fiddleford H. McGucket, dad!stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-10-28 18:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10836831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiMelone/pseuds/The%20Last%20Speecher
Summary: In 1982, Ford attempts to get a hold of his twin brother, to ask for his help.  Stan refuses to come to Gravity Falls, and as a result, Ford goes to his house in San Diego.  There he finds out that Stan is a stay-at-home dad, with a wife, two children, and even a pet dog.  Now unsure of whether he can ask his brother to abandon his family, and with a surprise regarding his former research assistant throwing him into a panic, Ford struggles to find a way to deal with Bill.(AU of the Stanley McGucket AU)





	1. Welcome to San Diego

Ford checked the address.

_Yes, this is Farley Street._ He began to walk down the street, squinting at the numbers on the well-kept houses. _This doesn’t seem like Stanley’s kind of neighborhood._ He thought back to the conversation he’d had with his mother the week before.

_“Yes, I have Stanley’s phone number,” his mom said. “I also have his address, if you wanna go talk to him face-to-face.”_

_“No, the phone number will suffice,” Ford said quickly._

_“When you talk to him, tell him I’ve been waiting for that birthday call for months.”_

_“Your birthday isn’t until March.”_

_“Like Stan knows that.”_

Ford came to a stop outside a tan craftsman-style home. He looked at the address on the mailbox.

_435\. This is it._ He carefully pushed the gate open and stepped onto the small fenced-in lawn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a toy wagon. _What’s that for? This is getting stranger by the second._ As he walked up to the door, he mentally replayed the conversation he’d had with his twin a few days ago.

_The phone picked up after two rings._

_“This is Stan,” a gravelly voice said. Ford’s heart stopped. Even though he had been expecting to hear Stan’s voice, it was still strange._

_“Stanley?” There was a rustle over the phone._

_“Stanford? Is that you?”_

_“Yes, it’s- it’s me.”_

_“What- how did ya get this number?”_

_“Mom gave it to me.”_

_“Of course she did,” Stan grumbled. There was some sort of commotion on his end of the line. A muffled voice said something to him. “I’ll take care of it in a bit, I’m on the phone.”_

_“Is there someone else there?” Ford asked, curious despite himself._

_“Yeah, a couple of people. Ford, why’d ya call me?”_

_“I need your help.”_

_“With what?”_

_“I need you to come to Gravity Falls. We can talk then.”_

_“Gravity Falls? Where’s that?”_

_“Oregon.”_

_“Oregon?! Ford, I can’t go to Oregon.”_

_“Did you lose the Stanleymobile?”_

_“No, I’ve still got her. I can’t go to see ya for a…different reason.” After Stan didn’t elaborate, Ford prompted him._

_“A job of some sort?”_

_“No. Well, sorta? I dunno, I guess it counts as a job. That’s what Angie’s been sayin’, anyways.” Once again, Stan didn’t expand upon what he had just said._

_“Who says that?”_

_“Seriously, Ford, I can’t come,” Stan said evasively. “You can come see me, if ya want,” he suggested. Ford grimaced. The idea of meeting Stan at some grungy, run-down hotel in a Podunk town wasn’t that appetizing. But it wasn’t like he had a choice._

_“…Fine. What’s the address?”_

_“435 Farley Street, San Diego.”_

_“San Diego?” Ford asked. He scribbled the address down on a piece of paper. Stan chuckled._

_“Yeah. Surprised I’m not in some random nowheresville backwater town in New Mexico or somethin’, huh?”_

_“Slightly,” Ford confessed. There was more noise on Stan’s end. High-pitched voices and something that sounded like barking._

_“Yeah, I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Stan said to someone else, his voice slightly muffled, as though he had covered the receiver. His voice came back full volume. “Anything else ya need, Ford? I’ve got stuff to do.”_

_“Uh, no. I suppose I’ll see you in a few days.”_

_“See ya then.” Stan hung up the phone._

Ford stared at the whitewashed front door, steeling himself. He was still rather perturbed that Stan hadn’t agreed to meet him in Gravity Falls, but the sting over his refusal was slightly taken away by his curiosity. Clearly, Stan had a comfortable living situation. Maybe he even lived with a significant other.

_Don’t be ridiculous. Stanley’s not the type to settle down._ Ford knocked on the door. There was barking. 

“Shh! Quit it, ya dog!” Ford recognized Stanley’s hushed voice. He could make out some sort of commotion. “That’s right, get in there. I’ll get ya in a bit. If the girls ask, ya weren’t in here, _capisce_?” Ford blinked, bemused. The door opened. “Hey, Ford,” Stan said. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Ford gave his twin a quick once over. Stan was clearly healthy, living well. He was clean, well-kept, and actually wearing his glasses. 

“…You have a ponytail?” Ford asked. Stan grinned.

“Started out as a mullet. Ended up tyin’ it back for convenience about two and a half years ago. Kept the habit.” He shrugged. “Angie says it’s pretty fetchin’, so it’s not like I’d wanna change it anyways.”

_There’s that “Angie” again._

“Who is Angie?” Ford asked. Stan waved a hand. 

“You’ll meet her later. I told her we were gonna have a guest. Didn’t say who. But she wants ya to stay for dinner. And she’ll be pretty pissed if ya leave.” Stan eyed Ford. “Looks like ya could use a good meal or two anyways. And a good night’s sleep. Holy Moses, Sixer, what the heck happened to ya?”

“You just said ‘heck’. Why didn’t you swear?” Ford asked Stan, rather than answering the question. 

“You’ll probably find that out later, too. Just, uh, come in, and we can talk about whatever it was ya wanted to talk about.” Stan stood to the side so that Ford could walk in. Ford entered the house and immediately took in his surroundings. He was standing in what seemed to be a living room. It was cozy and warm, with various pictures of wildlife on the walls. He began to feel a bit more at ease.

_This is far more welcoming than my own home._ Ford saw a spattering of bright colors out of the corner of his eye and turned his head. He frowned at the building blocks and other children’s toys, piled on the off-white carpeting near a dark gray sofa. _Maybe Stan has a roommate who has children? This “Angie” he keeps mentioning?_

“Ya want coffee or somethin’, Sixer?” Stan asked. Ford turned. Stan was standing in a kitchen adjacent to the living room. “I think we’ve got some. If not, uh, I dunno if you’re an herbal tea guy, but Angie’s got some. She doesn’t drink it often, so I don’t think she’d mind.”

“Coffee sounds excellent,” Ford replied. His hands were still shaking from the quadruple espresso he’d downed earlier, but he’d do whatever he could to stay awake.

“You got it.” Stan waved a hand vaguely. “Sit down wherever. Try not to fall asleep.” Ford didn’t take a seat, instead staring at his twin. When Stan had moved just now, a glint on his hand had caught the light. Ford had a feeling what it might be, but it seemed too odd for that to be correct.

_Stanley wouldn’t get married._

“Seriously, Ford, sit down,” Stan said briskly. “Ya might fall over if ya keep standin’ around.”

“Very well,” Ford mumbled. He looked around. There was a table in the kitchen, with four chairs. He walked over and took a seat, noticing that two of the chairs had some sort of colorful block on it. 

_What in the world is going on?_

“Whatchya doing?” Ford was startled from his thoughts by a young, high-pitched voice. He turned around, as did Stan. Stan sighed.

“Why aren’t ya in bed?” Stan asked the child that had just wandered into the kitchen. The child, a girl no more than four years old, rubbed her eyes with her free hand. Her other hand was holding a large stuffed animal frog. 

“Woke up,” the child mumbled blearily. She frowned at Ford. “Who’s he?”

“A guest. Your ma mentioned we’d have one, remember?” Stan said. The child cocked her head.

“Looks like you,” she said simply. Stan sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stan took the coffee out of the cupboard. “Go play with your blocks or somethin’, okay?”

“Don’t wanna.” 

“Then what do ya wanna do?”

“Eat. Hungry.”

“All right. We can do that.” Stan walked over to the child and picked her up, then set her down in one of the chairs with the brightly colored blocks. Ford resisted the urge to groan out loud.

_Of course, those were booster seats! God, why didn’t I realize that?_

“Whattaya want, kid?” Stan asked. The child scrunched up her face.

“My name’s not kid! ‘s Daisy!” she said petulantly. Stan chuckled.

“I know that. So? Whattaya orderin’?” he asked.

“Corn stuff.” Stan nodded. 

“You’re in luck. Your ma made some last night after bedtime. Can ya wait until I get the coffee started?”

“No!” Daisy said promptly. Stan sighed. He looked at Ford. 

“Mind waitin’ while I get Miss Daisy her snack?”

“No, that’s fine. Go ahead,” Ford replied, slightly blindsided by the interactions between Stan and Daisy. He looked at Daisy curiously. She tilted her head, looking at him with an interested expression likely similar to his. Her big blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity. Daisy grinned at him as her gaze fell on Ford’s six-fingered hands.

“Twelve!” she said cheerfully. 

_She can count? I wasn’t expecting her to be able to. But granted, I don’t know her age. Or much about child development._ Ford resisted the urge to hide his hands under the table. Daisy held up her own hands proudly.

“Eleven!” she chirped. Ford’s eyes widened. Daisy did in fact have eleven fingers; one hand had six while the other had five. Stan nodded as he set down a plate in front of her.

“That’s right, you’ve got eleven fingers. How much older is your sister?”

“Eleven.”

“Eleven what?”

“Minutes!”

“And how old are you?”

“Three!” Daisy cheered. The whole exchange felt like a ritual, something they regularly did. Stan chuckled and ruffled her wild brown curls. 

“Yup. You betcha, junebug. I’ll get the coffee started now, Ford.” At the sound of footsteps, Stan and Ford looked at the kitchen entrance. Stan groaned. “ _You’re_ up, too?”

“Hungry,” the second toddler said, tucking a strand of caramel-colored hair behind her ear. 

_I take it this is Daisy’s twin sister. Daisy did say her sister was a mere eleven minutes older than her, correct?_ The toddler cocked her head at him in the same way Daisy had.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Uh…” Ford looked over at Stan, unsure of how to introduce himself.

“A guest,” Stan interjected. “Do ya want some of that corn casserole or whatever it’s called?”

“Corn stuff?” the toddler asked.

“Yeah, that.” The toddler nodded. “All right then, Princess Danny, let’s get ya some food.” Ford leaned against the table, amused despite the exhaustion making his eyes heavy.

“Princess Danny and Miss Daisy?”

“They can’t both be princesses,” Stan said, picking Danny up and setting her in the other chair with a booster seat. “There’d be fightin’ over who gets to rule the kingdom.”

“I’d win,” Daisy said confidently. Ford quirked a half-smile. “But I don’t wanna be princess. Don’t like dresses.”

“Ya don’t like _any_ clothes, ya gremlin,” Stan said. He opened the fridge and began to rummage around in it. 

“Not a gremlin!” Daisy protested. 

“Then what are you?” Ford asked her. He was beginning to enjoy the bluntness of this child. It reminded him of Stan when he was that age. Daisy frowned thoughtfully.

“Dunno. Not princess, though.” 

“ _I’m_ princess,” Danny said softly. Ford turned his attention to the second girl. Danny looked back at him with familiar deep brown eyes. But it wasn’t the eyes, or the children’s rosy, chubby cheeks, or even Daisy’s polydactyly that confirmed his suspicions. Danny had a large, ruddy nose that he’d never seen in anyone outside his family.

_Holy Moses. Stan is a…?_

“There ya go, princess,” Stan said, placing a plate of some sort of yellow squishy thing in front of Danny. 

“Thank you,” Danny said politely.

“Now I’ll get the coffee started,” Stan said. "Sorry ya had to wait, Ford.”

_Is Stan…apologizing?_

“It’s no problem,” Ford said. “Getting food for your daughters is high priority.” Stan froze, the blood draining from his face.

“Ya figured it out,” Stan whispered. Ford sighed.

“Stanley, I have multiple doctorates,” he said. “I’d think I could recognize my own nieces. By the way, does Mom know? I feel like if she knew you were a father, she’d have told me.” Stan moved things noisily in cupboards.

“No. She doesn’t know.” 

“Doesn’t Ma have a doctor?” Danny asked Stan.

“Yeah, she does,” Stan said. “Your ma’s got a doctorate.” Ford frowned.

“You settled down with an intellectual?”

“Gee, thanks, Ford,” Stan muttered. “And it’s not like Angie’s a nerd or somethin’. She’s got some weird older brothers, but she’s actually cool.” 

“Who are you?” Danny asked Ford suddenly. “Daddy knows you?” Ford blinked, slightly startled by her abruptness.

“Uh, yes, actually. Your father knows me. I’m his twin brother.” Danny and Daisy looked at him with identical bemused expressions. “I’m your Uncle Ford,” he added. Danny shook her head.

“Not a uncle. Don’t look like one. Or talk like one.”

“Just ‘cause you’ve only met your ma’s brothers doesn’t mean all uncles are the same,” Stan said. “He _is_ your Uncle Ford.”

“Does Ma know ‘bout Uncle Ford?” Danny asked.

“No. She doesn’t,” Stan said, starting up the coffeemaker. 

“Why not?” Daisy asked. 

“All right, Twenty Questions is over.” Stan walked over to his daughters and took them out of their chairs. “Go eat your snack somewhere else,” he said, handing them their plates. “But don’t leave crumbs. Your ma blows a gasket.”

“Apple likes crumbs,” Danny said. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine, fine. We’ll send in Apple later then. Now go on, scat!” He gently nudged them out of the kitchen. The girls wandered off. Stan took a seat at the table. The scent of brewing coffee slowly filled the room.

“I assume you weren’t referring to the fruit?” Ford asked Stan. Stan frowned. “This ‘Apple’,” Ford clarified. Stan shook his head.

“Nah, that’s the dog’s name.” He shrugged. “I voted for Cujo, but the girls had the final say. Of course they chose the name they came up with. Don’t let toddlers name dogs.”

“You’ve really settled down, haven’t you?” Ford said softly. Stan looked away. “A dog, two kids, and, judging by the ring on your finger, a wife? I am honestly completely surprised, Stanley.”

“Yeah, well,” Stan mumbled, playing with his wedding ring; a simple gold band. “It’s a bit more…I dunno, domestic than I thought I’d end up with. But it’s good. Just ‘cause I didn’t plan it, don’t mean I don’t like it.” He smiled fondly. “Don’t think I’d trade spendin’ time with my wife and daughters for anything at this point.”

“Your daughters. Their names are Danielle and Daisy Pines, I take it?”

“Nah. Danny is short for Danica. People call her Danielle all the time. That’s a pretty good way to get her pissed off.” Stan grinned proudly. “She’s a firecracker, that kid. Like her ma.” He looked at Ford. “And actually, speakin’ of their ma, they’ve got her last name.”

“Why?” Ford asked. Stan rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“When I met her, I was usin’ a fake last name. Never got around to tellin’ her my real one. Didn’t feel that much of a connection to Pines anymore anyways. So when we got married, I just sorta…took hers. Her family got a real kick outta that lemme tell ya.” He rolled his eyes. “At the reception, I heard ‘Yer finally a McGucket’ about a million times.” Stan stood up and walked over to the counter to check on the coffee. He poured two mugs and took them back to the table. “Here,” he said, handing one to Ford. Ford took the offered mug. “Maybe I shouldn’t give ya caffeine. You’re shakin’ pretty bad.” But Ford’s tremors weren’t due to caffeine withdrawal.

_McGucket. No, I had to have misheard._

“Did you say your wife’s last name was McGucket?” Ford asked. Stan nodded and sat down again. 

“Yeah. And it’s my last name now, too, so I’m Stan McGucket. The girls are Danica and Daisy McGucket.”

_Shit! I thought Daisy’s nose looked familiar! That’s a nose I’ve only over seen in Fiddleford’s family._

“I have to leave,” Ford said abruptly. He stood up, nearly knocking the mug of coffee off the table.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Stan said. “Ford, ya still haven’t told me why ya came here! I know McGucket’s a goofy last name, but-”

“I can’t face a McGucket,” Ford whispered. “Not after what I did to Fiddleford.” Stan’s eyes narrowed.

“Fiddleford? How do ya know my wife’s older brother?”

“She’s his _younger sister_? Shit! If it had been his cousin, or niece or something, maybe, but-” Ford ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t stay, I can’t face his family, I can’t-”

“Ford,” Stan said flatly, cutting off his twin’s panicked speech. “She won’t be back until 6. The zoo doesn’t close until 5:30, and she’s gotta do maintenance before she can leave. Ya don’t need to ‘face her’ or whatever. But ya _are_ gonna tell me what the hell ya did to my brother-in-law.”

“No. I refuse.”

“Sit your ass back down,” Stan growled. Ford swallowed at the stony expression on Stan’s face. “ _Now_.” Ford took a seat again. Stan nudged Ford’s abandoned coffee mug toward him. “Talk.”

“I- Fiddleford was my research assistant,” Ford said. Stan nodded. “We were researching the anomalies of Gravity Falls and I- I made a mistake.”

“Ya didn’t push him over a cliff or somethin’, did ya?” Stan asked. “Angie and her folks have been pretty worried. Nobody’s heard from him in weeks. Not his wife, not his son, not anyone.” Ford put his head in his hands, the guilt overwhelming him.

“No. He- he saw something he shouldn’t have. We were testing our project, an interdimensional portal. And Fiddleford- Fiddleford fell in.”

“Fuckin’ shit,” Stan swore softly. 

“He saw the domain of an old benefactor of mine. It drove him mad. The last time I saw him, he- he couldn’t remember his own name.”

“Goddammit,” Stan whispered. Ford looked up at his twin. To his surprise, Stan seemed genuinely upset. Stan pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes. “The McGuckets don’t deserve that. Fidds definitely doesn’t.” Ford blinked.

“You- you know his nickname?”

“I got to know my wife’s family a bit, yeah,” Stan snapped. He sighed. “Okay. You’re clearly not here to tell me about what happened to Fidds. Why are ya here?”

“It’s a bit complicated, and I’m not sure if I should talk about it right now. My thoughts aren’t the most…firm.”

“Can’t think straight, huh?” Stan asked. Ford shook his head. “When was the last time ya slept?”

“I’m not sure.”

“All right, no joe for you, then,” Stan said, taking the mug of coffee from Ford. “But before I send ya to go get some damn rest, give me the basic info. Tell me who you’re runnin’ from.” At Ford’s startled expression, Stan grinned crookedly. “I’ve run from plenty of…unsavory folk, to put it the ‘McGucket’ way. I know what it looks like when you’re runnin’ from someone bad.”

“His name is Bill. He’s- he’s the one whose domain Fiddleford saw.”

“And when ya say domain, ya mean…”

“His place of residence,” Ford said. He rubbed his forehead. A throbbing headache was forming, and his eyelids felt like they were made of sandpaper. “I-”

“That’s enough for now, I guess,” Stan said. “Ya look like you’re about to keel over. Guest room is down the hall, second door on the left. Take a nap. We’ll talk more after Angie gets home.” Ford nodded silently and stood up. Before he exited the kitchen, Stan called him. “Ford?” Ford turned. Stan walked over to him and put his hands on Ford’s shoulders. “We’re gonna help ya out.” Ford nodded again. “Seriously. Nobody messes with my family.” Although Stan’s hands were heavy, it felt as though a weight had been lifted.

“Thank you, Stanley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was a "what-if" situation I thought of a few weeks ago, and it sort of snowballed from there into a full-blown alternate universe that I've dubbed the "Stay-at-Home Stan AU". I'll be going more in-depth later on in the story as to how this AU is both similar and different from the AU it is derived from (the Stanley McGucket AU). There's some good drama, angst, and cute family moments coming up. Next chapter, we meet Stan's wife and find out how Stan ended up in San Diego as a stay-at-home dad!  
> Also, I'll be updating and finishing up "Stan Pines, Farmhand" within this week and the next, because I'm finally basically done with school for the year. I was just overeager and wanted to post this as a sort of birthday gift to me (since it's my birthday). This AU is quickly becoming a favorite of mine.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	2. An Idyllic Domestic Life

**_YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN ESCAPE ME, SIXER?_ **

Ford sat bolt upright, drenched in a cold sweat. His breathing slowly steadied as he looked around the sparsely furnished, but clean guest room. He threw the brown-striped covers off and sat on the edge of the bed.

_Fuck! See, Stanley, this is why I don’t sleep! Bill_ always _finds me. Always._ Once his heart had stopped pounding in his ears, he could make out the clatter of cookware and voices chattering. Ford hesitantly stood up and opened the door. He was immediately greeted by a waft of marinara-scented air. His stomach rumbled. _How long has it been since I’ve eaten?_ He walked down the hallway and into the living room.

“You got Daddy in trouble,” an accusatory voice said. He looked down. Danny was standing in front of him, her diminutive arms crossed and brown eyes narrowed. 

“Yer daddy got his own self in trouble,” a female voice said in a thick southern accent. Ford looked over. A short woman with mid-length caramel-colored hair and a very large nose was standing in the kitchen, wearing a clearly hand-embroidered apron. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of half-moon reading glasses. She stood in a pose similar to her daughter’s. “Let that be a lesson. Ya don’t lie ‘bout yer fam’ly.” 

_This must be Angie. Fiddleford’s younger sister._ She smiled politely at him. _She’s going to hate me when she finds out what I did to her older brother._

“You’re Stan’s wife?” he double-checked. She nodded. 

“Though I like to think of it as bein’ Stan’s my husband. You must be Ford, the brother-in-law I didn’t know I had.”

“You’d be Ms. McGucket, then,” Ford said. She grinned crookedly, and it made Ford’s heart ache.

_That’s Fiddleford’s smile._

“Actually, it’s _Dr._ McGucket,” she clarified. “But ya can call me Angie.” 

“Oh, that’s right. Stan mentioned you have a doctorate.” Angie nodded again. 

“Yessir. In herpetology.”

“Wow. That’s quite the achievement. Biology was always something that fascinated me.”

“Well, we can talk ‘bout that over dinner, if’n ya want,” she said cheerfully. She wiped her hands on her apron. “I was just ‘bout to send someone to fetch ya. Dinner’s ready. Spaghetti and meatballs. It’s all homemade and all kosher.”

_Kosher?_ Ford looked at Stan, who was setting the table. 

“Stan, do you practice?” he asked. Stan shrugged.

“Not really. But Angie and I agreed that the girls should grow up knowin’ some of the family culture. Which means they’re bein’ raised with a weird mixture of Catholicism and Judaism, but eh. It works out pretty well.” He glanced over at Angie. “Like our wedding.” Angie smiled fondly. 

“Speaking of, why wasn’t I invited to your wedding?” Ford asked. Stan raised an eyebrow.

“Like ya can’t figure that out on your own. I didn’t want ya to show up and start yellin’ ‘bout how I ruined your life in front of my fiancée’s entire family. She’s got four older brothers, and all of them know how to use a gun.” He grimaced. “Didn’t need ‘em to think I’d ruin _her_ life, too. Her folks are still suspicious about how soon the girls were born after we got married.” Stan placed the last bowl down. “Hey, lil monsters, get yourselves in here. It’s dinnertime!” Danny abandoned her post in front of Ford to run to the kitchen, where she was summarily lifted into her chair. “Daisy, get your butt in the kitchen,” Stan said. 

“Wanna play,” Daisy whined from somewhere behind Ford. Ford turned. Daisy was busily scrawling in a coloring book. He squinted at the pictures.

_That’s not a children’s book. Those are textbook photocopies._

“I know ya like yer fancy colorin’ pages,” Angie said, taking a seat at the table, “but ya need to eat, junebug.”

“…Fine,” Daisy sighed. She stood up, but stopped before she reached the kitchen. She held out her six-fingered hand to Ford. “Hold?”

“Uh…” Ford looked at Stan and Angie helplessly. Angie was clearly fighting back a grin. Stan laughed, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“C’mon, kid. It’s not like he’s gonna take ya for a walk or somethin’,” Stan said. He walked over to Daisy and picked her up, then put her in her chair at the table. Stan took a seat next to his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek before he sat down. Angie responded with a kiss of her own. Ford tried not to stare at the blatant display of loving, happy domesticity.

_My wild twin really_ did _settle down. And it’s clearly a healthy relationship. If Mom ever found out Pops lied to her like Stan did to Angie…she wouldn’t even talk to him, let alone let him kiss her._

“You gon’ eat, Uncle Ford?” Daisy asked. “It’s friendly food.” Ford reluctantly walked to the table and sat down. 

_I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal with someone else._

“‘Friendly food’?” he asked. Daisy nodded.

“It’s how we described kosher,” Stan explained. “Easier than the whole spiel. At least, right now.” Angie cleared her throat. Ford looked over at her. Her eyes were closed.

“On this day, we thank the Lord for the bountiful gifts he has given us,” she intoned solemnly. Ford looked around. The other people at the table had their heads bowed. “We pray that he continues to bless us with food, family, and happiness. Amen.”

“Amen,” Danny and Daisy echoed. Stan grinned at Ford.

“Surprised ya, huh?” Stan asked cheekily.

“I, uh, was definitely not expecting that,” Ford said. 

“We say grace before each meal,” Angie explained. “It’s a tradition in my fam’ly. But I’ve been tryin’ to make it a bit more…inclusive, since the girls ain’t just Catholic.” Ford picked up a fork. Angie’s eyes were immediately drawn to his hands. Ford swallowed, once again fighting the urge to hide his polydactyly from Stan’s family. “Stanford, Stan mentioned ya know Fiddleford?”

“Uh, yes,” Ford replied. “He was my college roommate.” Angie nodded, a contemplative expression on her face.

“I think Fidds mentioned he met his roommate again a while back. ‘Bout seven years? It was around the time we first met, Stan.”

“Well, um, that wasn’t the last time I saw Fiddleford,” Ford said. Angie cocked her head.

“Oh?”

“I saw him more recently, um-”

“We can talk about that after dinner,” Stan interrupted. 

“I wanna know!” Daisy protested.

“It’s just boring grown-up talk, sweetness,” Angie said soothingly. Daisy crossed her arms and pouted. 

“You met in ’75?” Ford asked. Stan and Angie nodded. “How exactly did that happen, by the way?” Angie smiled at Stan.

“Stan showed up at my folks’ house, tryin’ to sell some sort of vacuum.”

“Stan-Vac,” Stan supplied. Angie chuckled.

“You were a door-to-door salesman?” Ford asked.

“Yeah. My products weren’t good, but I was. Angie’s folks still saw through me right away,” Stan said.

“They figured this young man needed some help, so they invited him to stay fer dinner. And then he stayed the night. And then another night. And then my folks asked him if he wanted to stay permanently, as a farmhand,” Angie finished.

“When Angie came home from college for Thanksgiving break, she walked into the barn and saw me and, well, that’s how we met,” Stan said with a shrug. 

“That’s quite the series of coincidences to bring you two together,” Ford remarked. 

“Yep,” Stan said. He grinned at Angie. “Glad they happened, though.” Angie smiled back at him.

“Ick!” Daisy said loudly. Stan rolled his eyes.

“What?” Ford asked.

“The girls don’t like it when their ma ‘n dad get lovey-dovey,” Angie said. 

“‘S boring,” Danny said.

“Then what do ya wanna talk about?” Stan asked. Danny frowned thoughtfully.

“Why is Uncle Ford more fingers?” she asked after a moment. Angie’s eyes widened.

“Stanford, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “The girls ‘re-”

“No, it’s fine,” Ford said. 

“They don’t mean anything by it,” Stan added. “They’re just too curious for their own good.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

_Is it, though?_

“To answer your question, Danny,” Ford continued, despite the awkwardness, “I’m a polydactyl due to a flaw in my genetic coding.” Danny and Daisy stared at him blankly.

“Ford. They’re three years old,” Stan said shortly. “They’re not in high school.”

“Oh. Right.”

“He’s got extra fingers ‘cause that’s just how he is,” Angie said. “Like how some folks have red hair, and some have brown hair.”

“I have brown hair!” Daisy said.

“Yes, ya do. And like yer Uncle Ford, you’ve got more ‘n ten fingers.”

“You actually inherited that trait from your father,” Ford added. “It runs in my family.”

“Then why does Daddy have ten fingers?” Danny asked.

“Some things skip generations,” Angie replied. “Yer Gran and Gramps don’t have red hair, but yer Auntie Violynn does. It’s just how things work sometimes.” Danny and Daisy nodded. Ford looked at Angie.

“I must admit, it’s refreshing to hear a full explanation, instead of just telling them ‘That’s how things are.’” Angie shrugged and leaned over to wipe sauce off Danny’s face.

“The girls are too curious fer somethin’ like that to slide. Anyways, I always hated hearin’ that, growin’ up.” 

“I suppose you’re glad to find out where Daisy’s polydactyly came from?” Ford asked. Angie paused. 

“Yes,” she said after a moment, in a calm, level tone. “I suppose I am.”

 

Dinner passed by cheerfully. Though Ford, for the most part, felt like an outsider looking in, as he watched Stan and Angie flirt, carefully keep their daughters’ faces clean, and attempt to engage the girls in meaningful conversations.

_Why does Stan keep asking them what they would do in hypothetical situations involving “pug trafficking”?_

“It’s after dinner, girls,” Stan said. “Ya know what that means.” Daisy leapt out of her chair.

“You’ll never catch me alive!” she shouted gleefully before bolting. Danny followed suit. Stan stood up with a chuckle.

“I’m comin’ for ya,” he growled playfully, stalking after his daughters. There were squeals of joy from somewhere else inside the house as he left Ford’s field of vision. Angie began to clear the table, humming to herself. 

“What, exactly, is going on?” Ford asked. Angie smiled fondly. 

“It’s a bathtime ritual thing. Stan started it. He’s a goofball, that husband of mine.” 

“Gotcha!” Stan shouted. There were more delighted squeals. Angie chuckled.

“Stan’s a heck of a father, by the way. After my maternity leave ended, we couldn’t find anyone to watch the girls. Well, not anyone that Stan thought was good enough for his babies. Stan told me ‘Ya know what, I’ve always hated my job anyways.’ Quit that very same day.”

“So he’s a stay-at-home dad?”

“Yessir.” Angie deposited the dirty dishes in the sink and began to clean them. “I appreciate how involved he is in raisin’ ‘em. I’m pretty busy most days, so it eases my mind to know that they’ve got one of their parents watchin’ ‘em.”

“Wow.”

“What are ya impressed by?”

“Honestly? All of it,” Ford said. Angie looked at him, bemused. “I never thought Stan would settle down, or have a kid, or, if I’m being completely truthful, if he did have a kid, I didn’t suspect he would make an excellent father.” Angie pursed her lips. “I mean, I thought he’d be a serviceable one. But not the one I saw today. It’s not like we got any ideas from how to be a good father from our own.” Angie nodded silently.

“That’s understandable. But it’s fer the best if ya don’t say that ya weren’t expectin’ Stan to be a good dad. It means a lot to him that his kids adore him so much. He’s put a lot of stake in his abilities as a father. He don’t need to hear that negativity from his twin.”

“…Of course.” A few minutes passed while Angie continued to wash the dishes. Ford looked around the kitchen. Like much of the house, it was tastefully decorated, in bright colors with pictures on the walls. Ford cleared his throat. “So, um, did you take these pictures?” he asked. Angie beamed.

“Yessir. Well, all of ‘em ‘cept fer the ones of me. I’ve always been a fan of photography. Had my own camera since I was thirteen. Pretty useful when I did field work fer my thesis. Can’t draw worth a darn, but I can make a salamander look like a movie star in a picture.” She shrugged. “If the lightin’ is right, ‘course.” Stan walked into the kitchen, slightly dampened.

“Kids are tucked in,” he said, taking a seat at the table. Ford eyed him curiously.

“Did you take a bath as well?” Ford asked. Stan laughed.

“Nah, the girls just like to have splash wars.” Angie put aside the dishes and joined her husband at the table.

“So, Stanford,” she said in a business-like manner, “at dinner, ya said that back in ’75 weren’t the last time ya saw Fiddleford?”

“Uh, no. Far from it,” Ford replied. “He actually was my assistant, up in Gravity Falls.” Angie frowned.

“Yer assistant?”

“Yes.”

“But Fidds was hired by someone named Stanford Pines, not Stanford-” She cut herself off and crossed her arms. “All right, which one of ya changed yer last name?” she asked, looking back and forth between Stan and Ford.

“What?” Ford asked. Angie turned to Stan.

“Stanley!”

“Hey, you knew I was a grifter. I went through a lot of different names. And I ended up takin’ yours anyways so-”

“Ya didn’t tell me yer real name! Ya didn’t tell me that, and neither did ya tell me ya had a twin brother!”

“Angie-”

“We’re married. We have two beautiful children. We need to be able to trust each other with our secrets.” Stan looked down, abashed. “I hope ya know where yer sleepin’ tonight.” Angie leaned in. “An’ it ain’t our bed.”

“Yeah, figured,” Stan mumbled. He glowered at Ford. “Way to go, Sixer, Tuesdays are the nights we get it on.”

“I wasn’t the one who lied to your wife,” Ford said defensively.

“Stanford,” Angie said suddenly, “if Fidds was yer assistant, do ya know what happened to him? No one’s heard from him in weeks. We’re gettin’ awfully worried ‘bout him.” A deep discomfort knotted in Ford’s stomach.

“He’s…not himself.”

“What do ya mean?”

“He’s lost his sanity.” Angie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Angie. I- it’s my fault.” 

“Wh- how?”

“It was through the course of our research that he- shit!” Ford scrabbled backward, falling out of his chair in the process. Angie had launched herself at him. Stan grabbed her torso, preventing her from actually harming him.

“Angie, what the hell are ya doin’?” Stan asked her. 

“He has a son!” Angie yelled at Ford. “A fam’ly. An’ it’s yer fault that he’s gone? Worse than gone, he’s there in body but he ain’t there in mind!”

“Angie, chill!” Stan hissed. “He explained it to me earlier. It’s not completely his fault.” He nodded at Ford. “Tell her.”

“It’s- Fiddleford saw something that drove him mad. The domain of a former research partner of mine,” Ford said. Angie glared at him.

“Yer not helpin’ yer case, Stanford,” she growled. “It still sounds an awful lot like it’s yer fault that Fidds is- is-”

“I don’t think he’s completely lost,” Ford said. Angie blinked.

“Really?”

“No, I- I think he can be saved. It will be difficult and fairly intensive, but you can have your brother back.” Angie sat down again. Stan kept an arm wrapped firmly around her torso. 

“All right,” she said softly. “If yer willin’ to help bring him back to his fam’ly-”

“And I am,” Ford said quickly. “Very much so.” Angie nodded.

“Okay. Now, tell us ‘bout this former partner of yours. What kind of person is he, to have a sanity-wreckin’ ‘domain’?” she asked. Ford sighed.

“This is going to sound insane, but…a demon.” Angie and Stan stared at him blankly.

“A demon?” Angie parroted.

“Sixer, what in the hell are ya talkin’ about?” Stan asked.

“Bill Cipher is a dream demon. He- he assisted in the construction of a device of mine. Something to allow for interdimensional travel. But he lied to me.”

“Demons tend to do that,” Angie said flatly.

“Ford, how are we supposed to believe ya?” Stan asked. “A demon? Seriously?” Ford sighed.

“I know. And I don’t have much by the way of proof. Beyond, well, this.” He took his first journal out of his trenchcoat pocket and handed it to Stan. Stan placed it on the table and opened it. He and Angie skimmed the journal with interest.

“This is either the truth, or a very powerful and complex delusion,” Angie said slowly, after reading a few pages. She looked at Stan. “I’m goin’ to defer to you on this, sweet potata. Ya know Stanford.”

“This is real,” Stan said softly. “Ford wouldn’t make all this up. And he’s not like your cousin Thistlebert. He’s not a madman.” Angie nodded.

“Okay.” She looked at Ford. “We might need some more proof eventually, but fer the time bein’, we believe ya.”

“R-really?” Ford asked, surprised. 

“Yes,” Angie said. “And we’ll help ya.”

“Like I said, Ford, no one messes with my family,” Stan said. He grimaced. “Even if it is a ‘dream demon’ that’s tryin’ to wreck my twin’s life. What’s the difference between a dream demon and a normal demon, anyway?”

“Well, that’s a rather complicated topic,” Ford said. “The difference-”

“Stanford, maybe that’s a conversation you can have with Stan later,” Angie said. “I have to be up early tomorrow fer work, so I shouldn’t stay up much longer. Do ya have any questions fer us right now?”

“Actually, yes. Stanley, when I called, why didn’t you tell me you were a married father?” Ford asked. Stan crossed his arms and leaned back.

“I didn’t hear from ya in over ten years. Then ya call me up, askin’ me to go to a different state to help ya. Forgive me for not wantin’ to tell ya ‘bout the life ya clearly weren’t interested in,” Stan said bitterly.

“I didn’t know how to contact you,” Ford said. Stan’s eyes narrowed.

“Bull. I’ve had a steady phone number since 1975. Ya coulda gone through Mom before, but ya only did it last week. Ya didn’t wanna talk to me. Do us both a favor and quit lyin’.” Ford resisted the urge to look down like a scolded child. Angie frowned.

“But when I got here, why all the secrecy? I had to figure out that you were married and who the girls were on my own,” Ford soldiered on. Stan shrugged. “That’s not an answer.”

“Maybe ya figured it out before I got a chance to tell ya like I planned,” Stan said. “Maybe I was nervous about tellin’ ya I settled down, when everyone, includin’ me, said I wouldn’t. Maybe I’ve got a flair for dramatics. Who knows.”

“Stan,” Angie intervened, “did ya mention Ford contactin’ yer mother?”

“Yeah, why?” Stan asked. Angie crossed her arms and glowered at him. “…I just bought myself another night on the couch, didn’t I?”

“More like three. Yer mother’s alive? Is _everything_ ya told me ‘n my fam’ly a lie?”

“No!”

“Are ya sure? ‘Cause it’s startin’ to feel that way.”

“Angie-” Stan started. Angie sighed. 

“I know ya had yer reasons. But the lyin’, this can’t keep goin’ on! Is there anything else you’ve kept from me?”

“No,” Stan said firmly. 

“Are ya sure?”

“Yes.” After a pause, Angie nodded.

“Okay.” She stood up. “Tomorrow, we can discuss a way to deal with this Bill problem.” She shook her head. “Bill. That’s quite the normal name fer a demon. Is his full name William or somethin’?”

“I’m not sure. I never asked,” Ford said, surprised by her candidness.

“Ah, well.” Angie looked Ford up and down. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Stanford, but…yer a bit of a walkin’ disaster right now.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Stan, would ya get yer twin some towels and show him how to use the shower? Oh, and lend him some of yer clothes, please.”

“There’s no need to do that,” Ford said quickly, holding his coat tightly. “I’m perfectly fine in the outfit I’m wearing.”

“Stanford, please, just borrow some of Stan’s stuff. I can throw yer clothes in the laundry tomorrow mornin’ and it’ll be done by dinner.”

“But-”

“You can keep yer coat,” she said with a smile. Ford relaxed slightly.

“All right. Stan’s clothes won’t fit me, though, I’ll have you know.” She nodded.

“I know. But they’ll fit better ‘n mine or the girls’ would.” Angie kissed Stan on the cheek. “Darlin’, don’t forget, yer sleepin’ on the couch tonight.”

“I know,” Stan muttered. He stood up. “C’mon, Ford, I’ll show ya how to use the shower. It’s a bit tricky.” Ford followed Stan to the bathroom. He could hear Angie hum as she resumed cleaning the dishes.

_Well, I just completely overturned their normal, happy, life, didn’t I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating this both a bit later and a bit sooner than I planned. Sooner, because I wasn't going to update this until after I finished "Stan Pines, Farmhand" (which I hope to finish by the end of the month), and later because I was expecting to finish "Stan Pines, Farmhand" sooner and therefore update this sooner. But life happens, and sometimes you get inspired for one thing and not another, so eh.  
> This was a fun chapter to write; lots of cute family interactions. We get into the nitty-gritty of dealing with Cipher, Stan's past, and a surprise with Fiddleford H. McGucket next chapter.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	3. Consequences

_“D-daddy, what’s going on?” Stan stared helplessly at his daughters, who were both shaking in fear. He was bloodied and bruised from Rico’s goons roughing him up, but the thing that hurt him the most was seeing his family in danger. At least the girls weren’t tied up, unlike him and Angie._

_“It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” Stan choked out. He tried to hold back his tears. He had to be strong for them. “We’ll be outta here soon. Just close your eyes.” Danny and Daisy looked at him with identical disbelieving expressions. “Trust me, pumpkin.”_

_“Do what yer daddy says,” Angie said in a quavering voice. Daisy and Danny clung to each other tighter and finally closed their eyes. Stan looked over at Angie. She was biting her lip, shaking from fear, as Rico held a gun to her head._

_“Shut up, bitch,” Rico snarled, whacking the back of her head with the gun._

_“Cut it out, Rico!” Stan yelled. “Leave them alone! I don’t care what ya do to me, just don’t hurt my family!” He heard one of the girls let out a choked sob. His heart broke._

_“Stan, you deserve hell, for thinking we wouldn’t find you.”_

_“Kill me, then! Let my wife and kids go, then end me.”_

_“Don’t worry, we’ll do that,” Rico said. “But I know the only way to really hurt you. You’ve never cared about your own life. You’ve always been weak for those you love. We’ll kill you. But you’ll watch your wife die first.” The girls began to cry in earnest. Rico cocked the gun being held against Angie’s head. Stan watched in horror as her terrified eyes met his, pleading for something. Tears finally began to stream down Stan’s face._

_“Angie, I’m- I’m so sorry for all of this,” Stan sobbed. “You and the girls, ya don’t deserve any of it.” Tears leaked from the corner of Angie’s eyes. “I love you,” he whispered._

_“I love ya, Stanley,” Angie whispered back. Rico pulled the trigger._

_There was a shot._

 

Stan sat bolt upright, every part of him shaking from panic. 

_Angie!_ Stan shoved the sleeping dog off his legs and fumbled out from the bed he’d made on the couch. He made his way to his bedroom, cracked the door open, and walked over to Angie’s side of the bed. She was fast asleep, her petite face relaxed and calm. Stan stared at her for a few seconds, trying to slow his heartrate. He reached out a trembling hand and tucked a strand of hair behind one of her ears. Angie smiled faintly and mumbled something in her sleep. He blinked away a few tears. _It was just a dream. Just a dream._ Stan took a deep breath. _A pretty damn realistic dream. But just a dream._ He leaned over and kissed Angie on the forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered to her. Still asleep, she smiled again.

“Love ya,” she said softly. Stan stroked her cheek one last time before exiting their room. On his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, he checked on the girls. 

_Still sleeping. Good._ He closed the door quietly. _It was just a dream, Stan. Just a dream._ He walked into the kitchen and turned on the light. Stan took a startled step backward, surprised to see his twin sitting at the table.

“Ford? What are ya doin’, sittin’ alone in the dark?” Stan asked. 

“I’m not sure where are the light switches are,” Ford mumbled. 

“It’s two in the morning, why aren’t ya in bed?” Ford looked away. Stan sighed. “Nightmares?” Ford nodded.

“Bill won’t let me go,” Ford said softly. Stan joined his twin at the kitchen table. “What about you? Why are you up?” Stan shrugged.

“Same reason.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yup.”

“What about?” Ford asked. Stan drummed his fingers on the table, mentally debating whether or not to tell Ford.

_Eh. Might as well._

“I was only a drifter for a few years, but I still fell in with some bad people,” Stan said, looking away. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop thinkin’ they’re gonna find me again, and hurt the girls and Angie.” He took a shuddering breath as he attempted to fight back the vivid details from his dream. “I know what they’d do to my family, and it- it’s real nightmare fuel, Sixer.”

“Have you talked to Angie about this?” Ford asked. Stan laughed hollowly.

“Tell my wife I have nightmares where she gets killed in front of me and our kids? No fuckin’ way. She’s got enough anxiety as it is.”

“Fiddleford struggled with anxiety as well,” Ford said softly. Stan nodded.

“Runs in the McGucket family. Angie and I are tryin’ to keep a close eye on the girls, so that if they end up bein’ the same way as their ma, we can nip it in the bud.” He sighed. “Really hope they don’t, though. My kids deserve better than that.” Stan frowned at the expression Ford was giving him. “What?”

“I’m just…so surprised by how devoted you are to your children.”

“Like me carin’ ‘bout my family is somethin’ new? It’s the same as when I beat up Crampelter for ya, when we were kids.”

“What are you gents doin’ in the kitchen at 2am?” a groggy voice asked. Stan and Ford looked over. Angie stood in the entrance of the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Get some dang sleep.”

“We, uh, needed a break,” Stan said. Angie frowned at him.

“A break from sleep?” Realization dawned. “Did the two of ya have nightmares or somethin’?” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Y-yeah,” he mumbled. Angie walked over and sat on his lap, then wrapped her arms around him. 

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, nuzzling her head against his neck. “It was just a dream.” Stan wrapped an arm around her torso and squeezed her tightly. Well aware of the intimate nature of their interactions, Ford’s gaze dropped to the table.

“I know,” Stan said quietly. Noises began to come from the living room. “Ah, shit, that dog better not be messin’ with anything it shouldn’t be,” Stan grumbled. Angie gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I can take care of it, darlin’. Try to go back to sleep, okay?”

“No, no, you need your sleep. I’m gonna be up for a while anyways.” Angie stroked Stan’s face.

“Ya sure?” 

“Yeah. Go back to bed. Maybe Ford and I can take the thing for a walk.” Stan looked over at Ford. “Not completely sure Apple’s actually a dog.”

“Oh, hush,” Angie said softly. She got up, gave Stan another kiss, nodded at Ford, and left.

“Still can’t believe you even have a _dog_ ,” Ford said. Stan stood up with a shrug. He walked into the living room and turned on the light.

“Kids wanted one. They spent a weekend at their grandparents’, and Angie’s folks live on a farm, so they were around all sortsa animals. When we picked ‘em up, the girls wouldn’t stop askin’ for a pet. They wanted either a dog or a horse. Dog seemed like the better decision, what with us livin’ in the city.” Stan looked around the living room. He finally found the dog, digging through a stack of books near the coffee table. “Hey! Cut it out!” Apple barked. “Shut it! You’ll wake up the kids,” Stan hissed, marching over to Apple and grabbing his collar. The dog whined softly and licked Stan’s legs. Stan sighed, his anger gone. “Damn dog knows how to charm everyone.” Stan looked over at Ford. “Come on in here and meet the pooch.” Ford stood hesitantly.

“I don’t know, Stanley. I’m not that good with animals.”

“C’mon, this thing’s the nicest dog ever. Hasn’t even growled at anything yet,” Stan said. “Likes to make messes, but other than that, pretty well-behaved.” Ford cautiously approached the dog. It was a living, breathing small mound of gray and black fur. 

“Is the dog somewhere under all that hair?” Ford muttered. Stan chuckled. His laughter was cut short by Apple suddenly bounding at Ford. 

“Apple, what the hell?” Stan said. Ford stared at the furry muzzle in front of his face. Apple emitted a low growl. Ford tried to move, but stopped when Apple snarled at him. “Apple, cut it the fuck out!” Stan barked, pulling the dog off Ford. Apple continued to growl at Ford. “Hot Belgian waffles, Ford, what did ya do, roll in about twenty other dogs?” Stan demanded. 

“I’m- I’m wearing _your_ clothes, Stanley,” Ford pointed out. His heart was racing, something he was not pleased by.

_I can go toe-to-toe with an actual dragon in Gravity Falls without my heartrate rising, but I get nervous about my brother’s small dog not liking me?_

“Huh. You’re right.” Stan stared at the dog he was still holding back. “Maybe this dog just…doesn’t like ya. Which I guess means ya shouldn’t join me on its walk.”

“Probably not,” Ford agreed. Stan sighed. He picked up Apple and carried him out of the living room. A few minutes later, Stan returned, Apple safely secured on a leash.

“All right, we’ll be back in, I dunno, fifteen?” Stan said, opening the front door. “Don’t wait up.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Ford replied. The door closed with a firm _thud_. 

_Now is the perfect time to investigate. Everyone is asleep or gone._ Ford looked over at the pile of books Apple had been pawing through. _That seems like a good place to start._ He picked up a binder and turned it over to look at the cover.

“Danica and Daisy,” he read out loud. “Hmm.” Ford flipped the book open to the first page. He frowned at the blurry black and white image plastered onto thick paper. “What is that?” It was clearly printed off from somewhere. He scanned the page for hints. Below the image was a simple caption. 

“Twins!” it read, in excited, neat handwriting. Ford blinked.

_This must be the first sonogram._ He examined the sonogram with a bit more interest, managing to make out the fetuses that would become the girls. A small smile played at his lips. _This is the first picture ever of my nieces._ He could picture Stan and Angie at the appointment, excited and surprised.

Ford flipped through the binder, which he now realized was a photo album chronicling Danny and Daisy’s childhood thus far. After the sonogram were various pictures taken of Stan and Angie preparing for their children. Ford stopped at the page with Angie’s baby shower, catching a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. His heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of Fiddleford excitedly hugging his younger sister. He tore himself away from the picture of his former partner, exuberant and healthy. His gaze instead landed on an adjacent picture, clearly taken after the party. Stan was sitting on a couch, his heavily pregnant wife leaning against him, asleep. Ford swallowed at the loving gaze Stan was giving Angie. 

_Dammit, Stanley._ Ford wasn’t sure why he was cursing Stan’s name. Envy, maybe? Or perhaps he was just frustrated, knowing how much more difficult it would be to convince Stan to leave. He turned the page, agitated. The next few pages were devoted exclusively to pictures of Danny and Daisy, presumably short after their birth, judging by their reddened, wrinkled skin. Ford skimmed the photos of Angie and two young men, likely older brothers of hers, cooing at the infants. He turned another page. His heart stopped.

“Damn,” he whispered. The page had one photo. It was of Stan holding Daisy. Even though all infants looked the same to Ford, he could tell which child it was, given that Stan was holding her six-fingered hand. A single tear was sliding down Stan’s cheek as he stared at his newborn daughter. 

_I can’t imagine what’s going through his mind, or what all he’s feeling._ Ford stared at the picture, wondering if he could interpret the complex expression on Stan’s face; one of joy and love but also sadness, regret, and nostalgia. After a few minutes, Ford closed the photo album. _I…I can’t ask him to leave, can I? He’d never do it. He loves this family he’s built. He loves them too much to be away, or to leave them all alone._ The front door opened.

“Ford, I’m back from the walk!” Stan called. 

_If I can’t give Stan the journal, what am I going to do?_ Ford continued to stare silently at the photo album as Stan put the dog away and eventually joined him on the floor.

“Whatchya lookin’ at, Sixer?” Stan asked. Ford handed the photo album to him without saying a word. “Oh. This thing. Yeah, Angie insisted on makin’ a photo album for the girls.” Ford put his head in his hands. “Is somethin’ wrong?” 

“I-” Ford started, but he didn’t finish. Stan frowned. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

“I haven’t told you why I came,” Ford said.

“Uh, yeah, ya did. Ya came here because ya got mixed up with some bad guy named Bill, and ya needed to lay low, get some help, whatever.”

“That’s not the entirety of it. My intent was…to ask you to take my research, and leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yes. Leave. Go somewhere far away. The ends of the Earth. Somewhere Bill’s minions wouldn’t find my research.” Ford shook his head. “But I can’t ask you to do that anymore. You- you have a family. And your kids, your wife, even that thing you call a dog, they’re your entire world now, aren’t they?” After a moment, Stan nodded.

“Yeah. They are,” he said softly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ford whispered, tears beginning to run down his face. “Bill, he- he’ll follow me anywhere I go. He’ll never leave me. This- this was my last chance, the only plan that might end with Bill finally breaking his ties to me.”

“Ford…”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. For the first time in my life, I don’t have a plan, Stanley.” Ford chuckled hollowly, feeling his exhausted mind finally begin to unravel. “In my state, I wouldn’t be able to come up with one, anyways. Bill won’t let me sleep. He won’t let me enjoy spending time with you and your family. He’s pulling my strings, turning me into his puppet whenever he wants and I-”

“Ford. Stop.” Stan wrapped an arm around his twin and pulled him into a tight hug. “You’re havin’ some sorta breakdown. Followin’ your thoughts will only make it worse. Just take a few deep breaths. Don’t think of anything.” Stan could feel Ford gradually get calmer. “Better?” Ford nodded silently. Stan let go. Ford looked away, hurriedly rubbing tear tracks off his face.

“How did you-”

“Angie’s had breakdowns before. After the girls were born, she- she went through a really rough time.” Stan shrugged. “Doc told me what to do to calm her down.” He eyed his twin, concerned. “Ford, how bad are things for ya?”

“I-” Ford started to say that he could handle it, but thought better. “I’d say I don’t know how they could be any worse, but that feels like tempting fate,” he said quietly. Stan nodded. “And I legitimately have no idea how to fix what’s gone wrong. Asking you to flee with my research, that was my last hope.”

“I’m no scientist or paranormal researcher or whatever,” Stan said, “but it doesn’t seem like that would actually have helped ya.” Ford was silent. “Look, Ford, I- I don’t like seein’ ya like this. I don’t know what we’re gonna do, but we’ll figure somethin’ out.” 

“You’d do that?”

“Stanford, you’re my twin. We have our issues, yeah, but I’m not gonna watch ya have some sort of prolonged mental breakdown and do nothin’ just ‘cause my dog doesn’t like ya.” Stan looked at the clock on the wall. “Why don’t ya go back to sleep, and we can talk more in the mornin’.”

“I can’t sleep,” Ford whispered.

“Then read a book or, I dunno, lay on the floor for a while and stare at the ceiling. Ya need rest, Ford, even if it’s not sleep.”

“Very well.” Ford reluctantly got up. Stan watched him leave, dread building in his chest. After the door to the guest bedroom had closed, Stan stood up and walked over to the kitchen. Rather than getting a glass of water from the tap, like he had planned, he opened the topmost liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of whisky.

 

Ford woke up at 4:50, like usual. As he sat in the dark guest room, waiting for…something, his gaze slid over to the bookshelf by the window. Unbidden, a memory surfaced.

_“Don’t store yer books on the floor, Stanford,” Fiddleford grumbled, after having stubbed his toe against a thick volume on particle physics._

_“There’s no space in my room,” Ford said without looking up._

_“Then keep ‘em in the guest room. That’s what my fam’ly does, when the bookshelves in our rooms get too full.”_

Ford stood and walked over to the bookshelf. He squinted at the titles before realizing that he probably should have turned on the light. After a moment, he grabbed a random book and went back to the bed, where he turned on the bedside lamp. The book he had selected was, of all things, a novelization of the second _Star Wars_ film, _The Empire Strikes Back_. 

_That’s my favorite film. Why would Stan have it in his guest room?_ Ford shrugged his curiosity away and opened the book. 

Ford had just finished reading the book when he heard the distinct sound of an alarm clock going off. He glanced at the clock. It was now 6:45. He placed the book on the bedside table and made his way to the door. Ford opened the door at the same time that Angie, looking near-delirious, opened hers. She blinked owlishly at him for a few moments.

_I can practically hear the gears turning in her head. Does she not remember me?_ Finally, recognition dawned, and she smiled sheepishly.

“Mornin’, Stanford,” she said in a voice thick from sleep. “Were ya up long?”

“…No, I woke up when your alarm clock went off,” Ford lied.

_No sense in making her concerned about my sleep schedule. That’s my own burden to bear._ Angie grimaced.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s no problem,” Ford said reassuringly. 

“Hmm. If ya say so. How’s ‘bout some breakfast?” she said. Ford nodded.

“That sounds excellent.” He followed her down the hallway and into the living room. Stan was still fast asleep on the couch, but the dog must have been put in its kennel, as it was nowhere to be found. Angie gestured at the table, indicating for Ford to take a seat, before walking over to Stan and kissing him on the forehead.

“Mornin’, sweet potata,” she said gently. Stan stretched.

“Mornin’,” Stan said. Ford smiled absently at the tenderness between Stan and Angie, as they continued to talk in low tones. He looked around the kitchen.

_Where’s the coffeepot?_

Everything went black.

 

Ford abruptly came to. He was face down on the kitchen floor, his nose squashed against the linoleum. Someone was pinning him to the ground.

“Stanley?” Ford said, his voice muffled. “Why are you holding me down?”

“Ya grabbed a fork off the counter and started stabbin’ yourself,” his twin replied. 

“That wasn’t me. That was Bill.”

“How was that Bill?” Angie asked.

“Bill can…possess people who have given him permission,” Ford explained.

“Why the _hell_ did ya give him permission?” Stan demanded. Ford sighed.

“It’s complicated. Now, are you going to let me up or not?”

“Until ya can prove it was Bill who did that, I’m not lettin’ ya go.”

“Stanley, please,” Ford said desperately.

“His voice _is_ back to normal,” Angie added.

“…Fine.” Stan let go of Ford. Ford pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the painful wounds on his arms. 

“Never thought I’d have to clean blood off my kitchen floor,” Angie said. Her attempt at a lighthearted tone was marred by her voice quavering. Ford looked at his sister-in-law. She gasped. “Yer eye!” Ford gingerly touched his eye. His fingers came away damp with blood.

“Damn,” he whispered. “It’s- it’s a side effect of Bill’s possession. Nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, right,” Stan scoffed. He helped Ford stand up. “Let’s get ya to the ER.”

“No!” Ford said immediately. “I can’t go to the hospital!”

“Ya stabbed yourself with cutlery and your eye is bleedin’,” Stan said. “You’re goin’.”

“Stanley, what would the doctors do if you told them I entered some sort of fugue state, wounded myself, and then blamed it on a demon?” 

“They’d have ya institutionalized,” Angie said softly. 

“We don’t mention Bill,” Stan suggested. Angie shook her head.

“If we told ‘em he harmed himself, they’d place him under observation, at least. At most, they’d still institutionalize him.” Stan rubbed his face, frustrated.

“And we’d be dealin’ with cops if we say he got attacked. And no one would believe it was an accident. Well, shit.” Stan looked at Angie. “You’ve got first-aid trainin’, right?” 

“Yessir,” Angie replied. “I’ll get the kit, see if I can’t patch him up. In the meantime, Ford…”

“Yes?” Ford asked. Angie smiled apologetically.

“Would ya mind standin’ over the sink? I hate to ask ya, but yer drippin’ blood all over the kitchen floor.”

“Oh. Right.” Ford walked over to the sink and watched bright red liquid drip onto the white porcelain.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Stan said, joining him at the counter. “Angie can have…issues if things aren’t clean enough. Especially when guests are visiting.” Stan sighed. “Pretty sure it’s another thing that runs in her fam’ly.”

“Fiddleford was similar,” Ford said softly. 

“‘Was’?”

“The last time I saw Fiddleford, he clearly didn’t care about cleanliness any more.” There were footsteps.

“I’m back,” Angie said. “Stanford, go ahead and take a seat at the table, would ya?” Ford covered his eye to prevent further dripping on the peach linoleum. Stan gently guided him to a chair next to Angie. Angie was busily unpacking the first aid kit, setting aside bandages and antiseptics. She looked at him and pursed her lips. 

“…What?” Ford asked. Angie sighed.

“I just ain’t sure what to do ‘bout yer eye. I could try to bandage it, but I don’t want it to fester,” she replied. After a moment, she took out a roll of gauze. “Here, hold this under it until it stops bleedin’.” Ford did as he was told. Angie scooted her chair closer to his and took one of his arms, then began to dab a damp cotton ball on his wounds. Ford hissed slightly from the stinging. “It hurts?” Angie asked. Ford nodded. “Good. That means it’s workin’.”

“So, Ford, does this possession thing happen very often?” Stan asked. Ford shrugged, making Angie cluck her tongue disapprovingly at the movement. 

“It happens when Bill wants it to happen, essentially. Though it normally would only happen if I was unconscious.”

“Hon, the bags under yer eyes are big enough fer me to use as a purse,” Angie said. “Usin’ common sense, I’d say that yer at risk in this state.” She tilted her head. “Sort of like the immune system. Sometimes yer more sensitive to attacks, sometimes yer less sensitive. ‘N times when yer exhausted, malnourished, or ill, yer more sensitive.” 

“I didn’t think about it that way,” Ford said after a moment. Angie cracked a half-smile.

“Stanford, I’m surprised ya can think _anything_ with how much of a wreck ya are right now.” 

“So we need to fix this problem yesterday,” Stan said. Ford nodded. “Okay. How do we do that?”

“Well, first, we need to break any ties I have with Bill,” Ford said. “Then, I can go to Gravity Falls and dismantle the portal, as well as block off the way I initially came into contact with Bill.”

“And help Fiddleford,” Angie added.

“Yes. Of course.”

“All right, the second and third thing seem pretty easy,” Stan said, rubbing his chin. “But how do we do the first part? Some sort of ritual?”

“I’m not quite sure. Maybe.”

“No, sir. No witchcraft in my house,” Angie said immediately.

“Then what are you suggesting?” Ford asked warily. Angie put aside the cotton ball, which was now a light pink.

“How does the possession work?” Angie asked. “Does he take control of a specific portion of yer brain, or all of it, during possession? Can he access yer memories? Are there certain control centers in yer brain that he can’t play train conductor with?” Ford stared at her, his mouth open.

_I’ve never thought of the possession from a neurological standpoint before. Why haven’t I?_

“I’m…not sure,” he said.

“Then that’s where we’ll start.”

“What?” Stan asked.

“I’ve got a friend what works in Neurology at the hospital,” Angie said. “I’ll call her up, see if I can’t get her to give ya a brain scan.”

“I doubt you’d be able to do a brain scan during a possession,” Ford said. Angie stilled. 

“Yer right,” she said softly.

“Then do it while he’s asleep,” Stan suggested. Angie and Ford looked over at him. “You said ya get nightmares from him whenever you fall asleep, right?” Stan asked Ford.   
Ford nodded. “So he’s in your brain then, right?” Ford nodded again. “I guess it’s not as good as gettin’ the scan while he’s possessed, but it’s a start,” Stan said. Angie beamed at her husband.

“Yer so clever, love,” she said. Stan grinned back at her.

“Not as clever as you.”

“ _Just_ as clever,” Angie insisted. “Only in dif’rent ways.” She began to bandage Ford’s arms. “So, Stanford, since yer the guest, _and_ yer ill, what do ya want fer breakfast?” Ford blinked, taken aback by the rapid change in topic.

“Oh. Um, hashbrowns?” he said hesitantly. Angie nodded.

“Stan, would ya get breakfast started while I finish up here?”

“On it,” Stan said. As he walked by Ford on his way to the fridge, Stan clapped a heavy hand on Ford’s shoulder. “See, Sixer? Told ya we’d work somethin’ out.” 

 

Two days later, Ford sat in the living room of his twin’s house and flipped through his journal idly. He looked up at Angie, who was standing at the entrance of the kitchen, on the phone. Ford could hear splashes and chatter coming from the bathroom, where Stan was giving the girls their nightly bath.

“Jenny, are ya adjustin’ to things all right?” Angie asked. “I’ve told ya, Stan ‘n I can take the lil feller off yer hands fer as long as it takes to set things in order.” Ford looked back down at his journal. 

_I’ve already been here three days. When is the brain scan going to happen? I have to return to Gravity Falls at some point._ But even though he was eager to dismantle the portal and finally remove Bill’s grip on his dimension, Ford was hesitant to leave his twin’s home. _It’s just so…warm and welcoming. And I hadn’t realized how starved I was for interpersonal interactions._

“Oh, did my ma tell ya ‘bout that? Yes, apparently Stan had an estranged twin, that he never told anyone in my fam’ly about, and that twin is the same person what hired Fidds to work up in Oregon! Ain’t that wild?” Ford shrunk into the armchair he was sitting in, well aware of the fact that Angie was looking directly at him. “Hmm? That’s how I found out, was meetin’ him, yes. Is he still here? I’m lookin’ at him right now. Really?” Angie covered the receiver with her hand. “Ford, Jenny’d like to talk to ya. She’s Fiddleford’s wife.”

“…Oh,” Ford mumbled. Angie pursed her lips.

“Get yourself over here, Stanford. It’s the least ya could do. Jenny don’t have her husband and Tate don’t have his father no more.” Ford nodded reluctantly and stood. He walked over to Angie. “Here he is.” Ford took the phone from her. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, Mrs. McGucket.”

“Stanford Pines.” The voice was smooth and soft, nothing like Fiddleford’s rather rough southern accent. “I’ve been wondering if I should reach out to you. But I decided to wait for a sign. You ending up at my sister-in-law’s house definitely qualifies.”

“Look, I’m sorry for what happened to Fiddleford, I-”

“This isn’t about my husband,” Jenny interrupted. Ford blinked. “It’s about Tate.”

“Y-your son?”

“ _Your son_.” Ford’s heart stopped.

“I, uh, I think I misheard you or-”

“No, you didn’t,” Jenny said in a tired voice. “It’s something Fiddleford and I discussed before we even got engaged. The identity of his son’s other biological parent.”

“But I- it’s impossible for-”

“Tate’s a smart lil boy, with far too much brown hair, pretty blue eyes, and twelve fingers.” Ford’s blood ran cold. “He’s also a bit over six years old. Do you remember meeting Fiddleford for dinner about seven years ago?”

“Y-yes.”

“And do you remember that dinner going _very well_ , and waking up next to Fiddleford the next morning?”

“…Oh. Oh, no.”

“Here’s the thing. Tate is your son, Stanford. And now that his pa is out of the picture, you really need to step up. He needs a father figure in his life.”

“Stan is-”

“-his uncle,” Jenny finished. “Not his dad. No, that’s who you are.” Ford swallowed. “I was going to turn Angie down on her offer to have Tate stay, but if you’re there, well…”

“I’m not planning on staying long,” Ford said hurriedly.

“Then you take him with you when you leave. You’re going to be there for your son, Stanford.”

“I-”

“It was nice to meet you, even if it was just over the phone. Give the phone back to Angie, please? We’ve got to figure out how and when I’m dropping Tate off,” Jenny said pleasantly. Completely numb, Ford handed the phone back to Angie, who had been hovering nearby, trying to act casual.

“Hey there, Jenny,” Angie said cheerfully. “Oh, Tate is goin’ to visit after all? Why, sure! We’ll take good care of him.” Ford walked to the guest bedroom, completely empty. Stan found him sitting in the dark, staring at the wall, an hour later.

“Uh, Ford? What’s goin’ on?” Stan asked, turning on the light. Ford shook his head. Stan closed the door to the hallway and sat down next to Ford on the bed. “Did Jenny really tear ya a new one that bad?”

“She didn’t yell,” Ford said hoarsely. “She- she told me that Tate is my son.” Stan squinted at Ford for a few seconds.

“…What?”

“Stanley, I- I have a son that I didn’t even know about!” 

“Tate is your…? Well, now the twelve fingers makes sense.” Ford didn’t say anything. “But holy fuck, Stanford. You’re knockin’ up your assistants?”

“I- Fiddleford wasn’t my assistant back then. Just a dear friend,” Ford said quietly. Stan scoffed.

“Sounds like he was a bit more than that.”

“I- I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a father, to a child I didn’t even know about,” Ford whispered. He groaned and put his head in his hands. “This- this wasn’t a situation I ever expected to find myself in.”

“What, ‘cause you’re gay?”

“No, because I’m the responsible one.”

“ _Really_?” Ford looked at Stan, startled by the venom in his twin’s tone. “ _You’re_ the responsible one? Ya knocked up your old college buddy, and didn’t talk to him in years. So ya never figured out that his son, _your_ son had twelve fingers and was born nine months after you two knocked boots. You’re sittin’ in _my_ damn guest room, just across the hall from where my happy and healthy daughters are sleepin’, stewin’ over how you’re not ready to be a father, and ya can’t do this. But sure, _you’re_ the responsible one.”

“Stanley, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, ya did,” Stan snapped. He took a steadying breath. “You didn’t think you’d be the one with a surprise kid. You thought it’d be me. Hell, that’s what I thought, too. But then I fuckin’ _manned up_. Which is what you need to do now.”

“I can’t.”

“Bullshit. I’m the dumb twin. I don’t know squat. But I figured out how to be a good dad. You, the fuckin’ _genius_ , should be able to do it in half the time it took me.” Stan glared at Ford. “And ya don’t have a choice. Ford, do ya want your kid to have an absent father? Do ya want your son to have a shitty dad, like we had?”

“…No.”

“Then don’t let that happen,” Stan said firmly. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, and if ya need help, well, stayin’ at home and helpin’ with kids is in my job description. But seriously. Whether ya like it or not, you’re gonna be there for Tate. You have to. Understand?” Ford nodded silently. “Good.” Stan stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it, but just before leaving, turned back to Ford. “And Stanford?”

“Yeah?”

“Congrats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy _cow_ that was a long chapter! I had a lot of stuff I needed to put in it, though. I think my favorite scene is probably at the beginning, with the heavy angst dream. I felt very evil when I came up with that.  
>  As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	4. Stanford Pines, Set to Rights

“Stanford.” Ford looked up. Angie smiled at him. “May I join ya?” she asked. 

“Uh, sure,” Ford said. Angie took a seat next to him on the couch. 

“I have somethin’ fer ya,” she said. “Hold out yer hand.” Ford did as he was told. Angie carefully set a necklace in the palm of his hand. It was silver, with a delicate chain that held a replica of the Star of David. 

“What’s this for?” Ford asked. Angie sighed.

“Growin’ up, I was always told that the sign of the cross would keep demons and evil at bay.”

“This isn’t a cross.”

“Let me finish.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyways, I looked into a bit more,” Angie said. Her knee was bouncing, in much the same way that Fiddleford’s did. “Seems like holy relics or holy symbols weaken otherworldly bein’s. I figured that, since ya were raised Jewish, you’d have a more personal connection to the Star of David than a cross. And that might strengthen its power a bit.”

“Angie…”

“It ain’t a permanent solution by any means. But maybe it’ll help keep Bill out of yer mind while we work on the proper fix.” She nodded at it. “That’s blessed silver, done by a priest. And the necklace has a good history, too. It was a gift from Ma and Pa to celebrate the twins bein’ born. Givin’ expectin’ parents a nice necklace is a tradition from Ma’s side of the fam’ly. There’s nothin’ but good feelin’s and happiness with that lil thing.”

“You’re very thorough,” Ford said softly, running the necklace through his hands. 

“I’m a scientist. I’m supposed to be. Go ahead, put it on.” Ford slid the necklace over his head. The moment the pendent settled on his chest, he felt more grounded. A humming he hadn’t realized was in the back of his mind suddenly stopped. Angie looked at him. “So?”

“It works.”

“Really?” Angie said eagerly. Ford nodded.

“Bill’s grip on me was already rather tenuous, given how far I am from Gravity Falls. This seems to have been the final step to break the connection between us. At least, while I’m in San Diego,” Ford said. Angie beamed.

“That’s amazin’! I’m so glad it worked. I am goin’ to need that necklace back, though. Once they turn eight, the girls get to decide who gets that one, and who gets the one with a cross.” She tilted her head pensively. “But I’m pretty sure Daisy’ll get the one yer wearin’.”

“Why?”

“Just seems like it,” Angie said simply. 

“Gut feeling?”

“Yup.” A few moments passed. Ford cleared his throat.

“Actually, Angie, while I have you here, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“It ain’t ‘bout more demons, is it?”

“No, it’s-” Ford took a breath. “The reason Jenny is dropping off Tate is so that he can bond with me. Because…I’m his father.”

“I know,” Angie said. Ford stared at her. 

“Did she tell you?”

“No. I figured it out on my own,” Angie said, sounding agitated. “I ain’t an _idiot_ , Stanford.”

“I never said you were,” Ford said, startled.

“It’s not what ya said, it’s what ya _implied_ ,” Angie said in a slightly calmer tone. She took a breath. “Look, I knew Tate’s other father was out there in the world somewhere. I ‘member when we still called Fidds ‘Viola’, and I thought he was my big sister. Jenny ain’t like he is. I knew someone was out there, who helped make my lil nephew.” She shrugged. “Figured it was some dashin’, handsome young man what swept him off his feet fer a night of wonder or somethin’ cheesy like that.”

“I’m not sure whether I should be insulted or not,” Ford said mildly. Angie rolled her eyes.

“Yer a fine-lookin’ man, Stanford Pines. Any twin of my husband would have to be. But I had no clue who exactly this mystery man was.” She cocked her head at him. “Then I met you. And remembered that Fiddleford met ya fer dinner ‘round the same time Tate would’ve been conceived. And I realized that Tate and Daisy look an _awful_ lot alike, even fer cousins.”

“You caught onto that?”

“Of course I did! Science is all ‘bout drawin’ connections between data. Fer the longest time, the only connection between Daisy and Tate was that I’m Tate’s auntie. I thought the polydactyly was some McGucket trait, maybe an _in utero_ mutated gene my Pa or Ma had, but didn’t manifest in ‘em, or their kids. Polydactyly can do that.” Angie shook her head. “But seein’ yer twelve fingers, well, that was the final nail in the coffin. Yer not just a polydactyl, yer a polydactyl in the exact same way as Tate. And it ain’t a common way. Post-axial polydactyly like that on both hands? Mighty rare.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” Ford said. Angie nodded.

“Suppose ya would be.” She paused. “I apologize fer bein’ rude just now.”

“Rude? I didn’t think-”

“No, I was. Don’t be polite.” Angie sighed. “I just- I’m so used to provin’ myself. Bein’ a woman in science is rough. Nothin’ I ever did was good enough fer folks at college. No one believed that I was as good as they were.”

“I’m familiar with the concept,” Ford said airily. Angie cracked a half-smile.

“Suppose ya would be,” she said again. She patted his leg in a genial manner. “Now, let’s go get that brain of yours scanned.”

 

Ford sat in the office of the head of Neurology at the San Diego Teaching Hospital. Across from him, sitting at a desk covered in brain models, was the head of Neurology herself, Dr. Norma Carmichael. Angie, who was to Ford’s right, leaned forward.

“So, ya didn’t see anythin’ peculiar with his results, Norma?” Angie asked. Dr. Carmichael shook her head.

“No. Just what I expected to see from someone with chronic nightmares.” The three of them had decided to not tell Angie’s college friend the source of Ford’s nightmares. “But I do have to admit,” Dr. Carmichael conceded, “the activity was more vigorous than I’ve seen before. Like there were more nightmares, or they were higher in severity.”

_Well, obviously my nightmares would be more severe than those_ not _caused by demons._ Ford mentally frowned at the sarcastic tone to his thoughts. _No, Stanford. Be patient. Dr. Carmichael is doing this at no cost to you, and Angie doesn’t need you to be rude to her friend._

“What do we do now?” Stan (who was sitting to Ford’s left) asked, taking a break from playing with one of the models on Dr. Carmichael’s desk. 

“You said that psychological treatments have been unsuccessful?” Dr. Carmichael asked. Ford nodded.

“Yes.”

“Then I do have one treatment I would suggest.”

“What is it?” Angie asked. Dr. Carmichael sighed.

“It’s rather experimental. Actually, we only just got the approval to do a trial for it here. It’s being run by myself and Steve. Steve’s arguably the best neurosurgeon we have here, he’s-”

“Norma,” Angie interrupted. “Please.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

_Angie mentioned her friend had a tendency to get sidetracked._

“The treatment is, to put it simply, brain surgery to suppress the portions of your brain causing the chronic nightmares,” Dr. Carmichael said. 

“What?” Ford asked, startled.

“Only when you’re unconscious, of course,” Dr. Carmichael said breezily. “We wouldn’t want to block access to a portion of your brain permanently. Which, if we accidentally did, we could fix. Probably. I mean-”

“Norma,” Angie started again. She took a breath. “Is this the only physiological treatment you have for us?”

“Yes. And, to be frank, your brother-in-law is perfect for our study.”

“Ya don’t say,” Stan said idly. He accidentally dropped the model he was fiddling with. Brightly colored regions of the brain scattered on the floor. “Shit! Sorry, Norma.” Dr. Carmichael waved a hand.

“It’s no problem. When my sons come to visit, they do the same thing. You don’t have a son, do you, Stan?”

“Uh, no. Just the twin girls for me and Angie right now,” Stan said.

_“Right now”? Hmm, maybe I’ll get another niece or nephew someday._

“Norma, I think we’re goin’ to go over our options,” Angie said. “We’ll be in touch. Thank you, again.”

“Oh, it was no problem at all! Especially if your brother-in-law agrees to be in our study. Hint, hint,” Dr. Carmichael said, winking at Ford. 

After cleaning up the brain model pieces off the floor, Ford, Stan, and Angie exited Dr. Carmichael’s office. Ford leaned against the wall. He lost himself in the sterile hospital smell and the voice on the intercom requesting the on-call dermatologist. 

“Stanford,” Angie said, breaking through Ford’s fuzzy thoughts. 

“Yes?” Ford asked.

“What are ya thinkin’?” 

“I think he should do the surgery,” Stan put in. 

“So do I,” Angie said. After a moment, Ford nodded.

“I concur.”

“I’ll call Norma tomorrow, sneak ya in that study of hers, then,” Angie said. She dug a pen out of her purse and scribbled something on her hand. Stan peered over at what she had written.

“Who’s ‘Dill Nodno’?” Stan asked. Angie shoved him playfully.

“Oh, you. Quit makin’ fun of my handwritin’. What matters is that _I_ can read it.” She tucked the pen behind her ear. “Did ya want to stop and get a treat, Stanford?”

“Uh, what?”

“When we take the girls to appointments, that’s what we do afterwards,” Stan explained. 

“I’m not one of your toddler-aged daughters,” Ford said. Angie grinned at him.

“I know that. But adults like ice cream too. So, are ya in the mood fer a nice scoop of vanilla?” she asked. 

“I’m not one to turn down frozen treats,” Ford said. Stan punched him playfully.

“There’s the spirit, Sixer! Let’s get some ice cream.”

 

Daisy hummed as she skipped alongside Ford, holding her six-fingered hand in one of his. It was the day after the brain scan, and Stan insisted that Ford come with him and the girls on their walk to the park.

_“Normally, Angie comes with, since it’s her day off, but she’s settin’ things up for your study,” Stan said._

_“I can do that,” Ford interjected. Stan shook his head._

_“You’re my brother and I love you, but you’re not a people person, Ford. Can’t risk you making Norma upset by accident.”_

_“I wouldn’t!”_

_“Since Angie’s gettin’ things in order, yeah, ya won’t.”_

“Uncle Ford, do you like my skipping?” Daisy asked, startled Ford out of his recollection. Ford smiled indulgently at his niece.

“Of course I do! It’s lovely, just like you are,” he said. Daisy beamed. Stan elbowed Ford.

“See, Sixer? You’re great with kids! And Tate’s an angel compared to these troublemakers. You’ll be fine with him.”

“The people at the park seem to know you very well,” Ford remarked to Stan. Stan eyed Ford, well aware of his twin’s not-so-subtle change of topic. After a moment, Stan shrugged. 

“I’ve been takin’ the girls there since before they could walk. Folks know the McGuckets around here.” He rolled his eyes. “Not everyone ‘approves’ of me watchin’ the kids and Angie workin’, though.” Stan looked at Danny, who was holding his hand. “What’s the name for people like that?”

“Chumps!” Danny said enthusiastically. Ford chuckled.

“That’s right, princess,” Stan said. He looked up. The blood drained from his face. “Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Ford asked. Stan stared at the car parked outside his house.

“I recognize that car,” he whispered. “Girls, ya know which house is Mrs. Bell’s, right?” His daughters nodded. “Okay, go over there, now. Take your Uncle Ford with you. Call 911.”

“What? Stanley, that’s a bit of an overreaction,” Ford started. Stan stared at his twin with terrified eyes.

“Remember that dream I had?” Stan asked in a shaky voice. Ford’s blood ran cold.

_The one that ended with his wife getting killed._

“…Oh,” Ford said softly. Stan handed Danny over to Ford. “I’ll take the girls. What should I tell the operator?”

“That a dangerous criminal arrived at 435 Farley Street, likely has backup. Now get goin’.” Before Ford could set off with the girls, however, the front door slammed open. A man raced out of the house, clamping a hand to his shoulder. “Cover the girls’ eyes, Sixer!” Stan shouted while he ran to intercept the person fleeing the house. Ford did as he was told and watched Stan knock out the stranger with one punch. 

“That’s right, ya best run, ya-” someone shouted from the house. Ford looked in the direction the voice had come from. Standing in the doorway, eyes wild and brandishing a rifle, was Angie. 

“Angie!” Stan shouted. Angie dropped her gun to rush to her husband and embrace him tightly. Ford could faintly make out a few words while Stan spoke to her. “-thought he got ya.” Angie’s laughter carried.

“No one messes with my fam’ly. Or threatens to,” she replied confidently. Stan hugged her tighter, burying his face in her hair. Ford looked away. This was a private moment between a husband and wife. After a few moments, Stan came back to Ford and the girls. 

“Daddy, what’s goin’ on?” Danny asked curiously. Stan crouched down.

“Nothin’ for ya to worry about. But Uncle Ford is gonna take ya back to the park for a bit. Your ma and I have to…deal with a few things.”

“Can Apple come with?” Daisy asked. Stan grimaced.

“Apple doesn’t like your uncle, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

“But,” Stan said, “Uncle Ford will get the two of ya a treat, okay?”

“Okay!” Daisy said cheerfully. Stan stood up and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. His hands were shaking.

“Stan,” Ford said softly. “It’s on me.” Stan looked at him gratefully.

“Are ya sure?”

“Yes. Positive. Take care of your wife and…your past. Just come by the park whenever you and Angie are ready,” Ford said. Stan took a breath. 

“Thanks, Sixer.” Stan kissed his daughters on the tops of their heads before walking back to Angie. Ford watched Stan put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and walk inside with her. 

“So, girls, let’s go back to the park,” Ford said in a falsely cheery tone. Danny tugged at his shirt. He looked down at her. “Yes?”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Ford answered. Danny frowned at him.

“Don’t lie.”

_Damn. How did she know? Am I that bad at lying? Or is she that good at catching lies?_

“Listen, I don’t want to tell you two something that’s inaccurate. Or something that your parents should talk to you about. When your dad comes to the park, you can ask him then. But right now, I can’t tell you anything. Do you understand?” Ford said. After a moment, Danny nodded. “Now, let’s go to the park.”

 

Ford stared at the polar bear exhibit, trying to suppress his nerves. 

_What I wouldn’t give to be on the other side of that glass. No, Stanford, you’d get mauled to death._ Ford ran a trembling hand through his hair. _Would that be so bad?_

“Sweet Moses, Sixer, quit freakin’ out so much!” Stan said, exasperated. Ford looked at his twin. Danny was sitting on Stan’s shoulders, braiding his hair, while Daisy clung to his leg and sang nonsense words under her breath. “You’re meetin’ Tate for the first time. You’re not gettin’ a prostate exam.”

“What’s a pot exam?” Daisy asked. Stan looked down at his daughter. 

“Nothin’ you need to worry about.”

“Hmm,” Daisy said, wrinkling her nose. She resumed her singing. 

“I’d prefer that, to be honest,” Ford said. Stan sighed.

“Seriously, stop bein’ such a drama queen. That’s _my_ job. Right, girls?”

“Yeah!” Danny and Daisy said eagerly. 

“Your children are using you as a jungle gym,” Ford pointed out. Stan winced as Danny tugged too roughly on his hair. “Can you blame me for being nervous about meeting my own progeny?”

“‘Progeny’? Geez, you’re a nerd. And you don’t need to be so worried. Angie and I keep tellin’ ya, not only is Tate older than the girls, but he’s the quietest, most well-behaved kid in the world. It’s weird.”

“Still!” Ford said. He looked back at the polar bear. “Why are we meeting Tate and Jenny at the zoo?”

“It’s zoo day!” Daisy said. Stan nodded.

“Since Angie works here, we get in for free a couple times a month.”

“That’s it?” Ford asked.

“Well, the rest of the month, we get a pretty sweet discount. But since it’s just the one income for us, and two toddlers use up a lotta cash, we usually only visit on free days. And anyways, Tate loves it here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He likes the animals a lot.” Stan looked past Ford. “There he is!” Ford turned around. Walking toward them was a tall, slender blonde woman, holding a young boy’s hand. The boy’s eyes were obscured by a thick mass of dark brown hair. Ford felt a hint of a connection.

_The Pines family curls. I’ve been there._

“Tate!” Daisy and Danny shrieked. Daisy unlatched from Stan’s leg and ran toward her cousin and aunt. She tackled Tate in an intense hug. The woman, presumably Jenny McGucket, carefully detached Daisy from Tate.

“Stanley, it’s lovely to see you,” Jenny said, once she had reached Stan and Ford.

“Good to see you too, Jenny,” Stan said. He grinned and removed Danny from his shoulders, then crouched down to Tate’s height. “Hey there, buddy. How’s my favorite little man, huh?”

“All right,” Tate said in a small voice. He looked at Ford. “Mom says you’re my dad.” Ford swallowed nervously.

“Yes. I am,” Ford said.

“Why haven’t I met you, if you’re my dad?” Tate asked. 

“It’s complicated. I wasn’t in contact with your father, and-” Ford broke off, suddenly noticing the stares he was getting from Danny and Daisy.

“All right, girls, maybe we should go get a snack,” Stan said abruptly. “Let Uncle Ford, Tate, and Aunt Jenny catch up.”

“No, I’ll come with,” Jenny said. “The boys need some bonding time.” Ford stared at Stan with terrified eyes.

_Please don’t leave me alone with him!_

“…Actually,” Stan said slowly, “I’ll stay here with Tate and Ford. Jenny, mind takin’ the girls to the Axolotl Eatery? It’s the restaurant near the amphibian exhibit. Angie said she would meet us there for her lunch break. Us men will take a short walk and join ya in about, I dunno, ten minutes?” Jenny looked back and forth between Stan and Ford.

“Okay. Come on, girls.” After Jenny had left, singing a song about elephants with Danny and Daisy, Ford turned his attention to his son again.

“So, Tate,” Ford started. 

“Yeah?”

“Uh…” Ford realized he hadn’t thought of what he would say.

“How about we walk around a bit,” Stan suggested. “Some of the penguins had babies, wanna go check it out, Tate?”

“Okay,” Tate said. He took a hold of Stan’s hand. The three of them set off in silence. Once they were halfway to the penguin exhibit (according to the zoo map Ford had picked up), Tate spoke. “What do I call you?”

“Pardon?” Ford asked.

“Danny and Daisy prob’ly call you Uncle Ford. But you’re not my uncle, you’re my dad.”

“Well, I think Dad would suffice, then, don’t you?” Ford said. Tate frowned.

“‘Suffice’?”

“Be adequate or sufficient,” Ford said. “Dad is a good thing to call me.” Tate nodded slowly. 

“Dad, what do you do?”

“I’m a scientist.”

“Like Aunt Angie?”

“Not _exactly_ like her. There are many branches of science, and I elected to study physics in college, while she studied herpetology.”

“Yeah, he’s a scientist like your Aunt Angie,” Stan said. Tate nodded again.

“What do you like to do, like read, or write, or jigsaw puzzles, or go hiking?” Stan raised an eyebrow. 

“Tate, did your mom give ya a list of things to ask your dad?”

“…Maybe,” Tate said. Stan chuckled.

“So, Ford? What _are_ your hobbies?” Stan asked. Ford rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh, I read a lot. I do my research, so for that I tend to take pictures and draw, as well as write.”

“Tell Tate about your research a bit,” Stan suggested. “I think he’d find it interestin’.”

“Oh! Well, my research is cataloging the strange creatures of Gravity Falls,” Ford said. Stan nodded.

“How do you do your research?”

“Mostly by hiking in the woods and observing wildlife.” Tate looked at Ford.

“Really?!” Tate asked eagerly.

_That’s the most energetic he’s sounded since I met him._

“Yes. There are a lot of fascinating things in the forest.”

“I know! There’s birds, and fish, and raccoons,” Tate said. “And! I saw Bigfoot once!”

“Oh, yes, he’s quite the friendly gentleman,” Ford said. Tate gaped.

“You met Bigfoot!”

“Yes.”

“I knew he was real! The other boys in my troop never believed me when I told them I saw him.”

“Ah, well, some people keep their heads in the sand and don’t listen to proof that the supernatural exists,” Ford said. He frowned. “Troop?”

“Boy Scouts,” Stan supplied. “Tate’s quite the ranger, aren’t ya?” Tate nodded eagerly.

“Boy Scouts have to do projects, right?” Ford asked. Tate nodded again. “Maybe one of your projects someday could involve assisting me with my research.”

“That sounds awesome! I wanna meet Bigfoot!” Tate gushed. Ford looked at Stan. Stan winked. 

“He’s a lot like you, huh, Sixer? Quiet until ya mention somethin’ he loves.”

“Why’d you call him Sixer?” Tate asked. 

“Because I have six fingers on each hand,” Ford answered. “Like you, Tate.”

“Really?” Ford crouched down and held out his hands for Tate to examine. Tate smiled. “I didn’t know there were people like me. Except for Daisy.”

“I _am_ your father,” Ford pointed out. “We’re bound to have similarities.”

“There ya are!” someone called. Stan, Ford, and Tate looked over. Jenny, Angie, and the girls were sitting at a nearby table. The table was in front of a building with a sign reading “Axolotl Eatery”. Ford stood up.

“We’re here already?” Ford asked.

“Yep. Guess we’ll have to go check out the baby penguins after lunch,” Stan said. “Let’s get somethin’ to eat. I’m starving.” 

“Stanley,” Ford said softly, putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder as Tate walked over to the table. Stan stopped walking and looked at his twin.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. Gotta have my family getting along, right?” Stan said. Ford smiled weakly.

“I mean it. You knew _exactly_ what would help me bond with Tate.”

“Well, I’ve known him basically his whole life,” Stan said. Ford’s smile faltered. “But you’ll get to know him better than I do eventually. I mean, you’re his dad.”

“Yes. I am.” Ford took a breath. “The timing is so awful, though. My surgery-”

“Isn’t for a week and a half,” Stan finished. “You’ve got ten days before the surgery to bond with Tate, plus however long Jenny lets him stay afterward. And so what if you get little loopy from the pain meds? You really get to know someone when they’re high on Percocet. Trust me. After the girls were born, Angie kept yammering on and on about how she swears she saw a werewolf in high school.” Ford shook his head, hiding a smile.

“You’re ridiculous, Stan.”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go get some exhibit-themed meals. Before I eat one of the animals from an actual exhibit.” 

 

Ford could feel his hands shaking.

“Hon, it’ll be okay,” Angie said quietly, stroking his freshly shaved head. “Steve is a miracle worker. The best neurosurgeon in the west.”

“Stanford,” Stan said. Ford looked at his twin. Stan put a five-fingered hand over one of Ford’s six-fingered ones. “Seriously. Everything’ll be fine.” Ford nodded. He could feel tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, like a nervous child. “You’re not acting like a kid,” Stan said, as though he had read Ford’s mind. “Brain surgery is pretty damn terrifying. There’s a reason we aren’t lettin’ the kids come to the hospital until after you get out.” Ford brushed away his tears, which had yet to fall. The movement jerked his IV, making him hiss. “I know this whole thing sucks,” Stan continued, “but think about how fuckin’ awesome it’ll be when you’re done. No more Bill. At all. Ever.”

“If it works,” Ford said, his voice quavering.

“It will,” Stan said firmly.

“It will,” Angie repeated. She kissed the top of his head. A nurse walked into the room.

“I’m here to take Mr. Pines to the OR,” the nurse said.

“Dr. Pines,” Stan corrected. He winked at Ford. “My twin brother’s got a Ph.D.” The nurse smiled in a patient manner.

“All right. Dr. Pines, it’s time for your neurosurgery.” Stan patted Ford’s hand one last time.

“Not gonna do a high six,” Stan said. “We’ll save that for after.”

“We’ll be right here when ya wake up,” Angie said quietly. As he was wheeled out of the room, Ford looked back at Stan and Angie. They were in a tight embrace, watching him leave. Stan grinned at Ford.

“Go kick some ass, Sixer,” Stan called after Ford. 

Ford smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update something last month, but time got away from me. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait a bit. And as for the stuff about neurosurgery and whatnot? Yeah, I don't even want to think about how much of that I made up. But Ford had to get the equivalent of the metal plate in his head somehow.   
> If you're wondering, yes, Ford gets high as a kite from pain meds in the next chapter. It's a fun time.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	5. Responsibility; Recovery

“Ugh.” Ford groaned without realizing what he was groaning about. He was in a room, somewhere. His surroundings were blurry, so he didn’t have his glasses on. 

_And…I’m not wearing underwear._ Ford groaned again. _What happened? Where am I?_ There was rustling to his left. He winced as someone carefully slid something onto his face. The room became clear. _My glasses. Okay then._

“Howdy there, sleepin’ beauty,” a voice said quietly. Ford turned his head carefully. He frowned at the woman sitting by his bed. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. “Stan actually just left to go pick up the kids.” She cocked her head. “Everything all right, Stanford? Doc said the surgery went well.”

“Angie!” Ford burst out suddenly. Angie jumped, startled. 

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing, I just- I remembered who you were,” Ford mumbled. Angie raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Ya forgot me, huh? At least ya figured it out.” She leaned forward and adjusted one of Ford’s pillows. The paperback novel that was sitting on her lap slid off. “Oh, shoot,” she said in a good-natured tone, picking the book up again. Ford looked at it with interest.

“Is that a Star Trek novel?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Angie replied. 

“I didn’t take you for a Trekkie,” Ford remarked. Angie chuckled.

“Don’t think ya can call me that. I only ever seen a few episodes of the show. Mostly just read the books.”

“Why?”

“My older brother, Harper, he works in movie special effects. I like them sci-fi things, mostly ‘cause of the biological implications of ‘em. But I can’t watch a good old-fashioned space shootout without hearin’ Harper’s voice in the back of my mind, blabbin’ on and on ‘bout how they did it.”

“He works in Hollywood?” Ford asked, surprised. 

“Yep.”

“Did he help with anything I might have seen?”

“Oh, definitely,” Angie said, grinning. “Ya ever heard of Indiana Jones?”

“No. There’s no possible way that your older brother worked on _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ ,” Ford said immediately.

“He did. His name’s in the credits. Harper pointed it out to me.”

“But that’s- your brother worked on a Spielberg film?”

“Yep. Got headhunted to work on the next one, too.”

“Holy-” Ford shook his head. “That’s incredible. Why did Fiddleford never tell me?” The lighthearted smile on Angie’s face slipped away. “…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s- it’s fine, Stanford,” Angie said in a falsely cheery voice. She bit her lip and looked down at her lap, carefully smoothing the fabric of her purple skirt. Ford rubbed his eyes. The room was fuzzy again, but this time not in sight. Rather, it was fuzzy in feeling. He could have sworn his body was lighter than usual, and a question he’d wanted to ask for two weeks suddenly didn’t seem inappropriate.

“I’ve been wondering,” Ford said. “Back when we met with Dr. Carmichael the first time, Stan said something.” Angie frowned.

“He was fairly quiet, though.”

“True. But when she asked him if he had any sons, he said ‘Not right now’.” Ford looked at Angie. “Are you going to have any sons?”

“Is this yer way of askin’ me if I’m pregnant?” Angie asked. “‘Cause I ain’t. Not that it’s really yer business, anyways.”

“No, I wasn’t talking about right now. I mean, in the future, will you?”

“Whether or not I have a son is a bit out of my control,” Angie said. “I know Stan would like one. He’s got grand ideas ‘bout baseball and other stereotypical father-son things. Which is, frankly, ridiculous. There’s a 50% chance that if we _did_ have a son, he’d be more McGucket than Pines, and wouldn’t be a fan of baseball and grillin’ and whatever dads do with sons in movies.”

“You’re dancing around the topic,” Ford said. “I can tell because I do the same thing.”

“Fine, I suppose I’ll tell ya what Stan ‘n I have planned, even though ya don’t need to know,” Angie said shortly.

_She didn’t need to be rude about it._

“We’re plannin’ on at least one more kid. Not fer a couple years, though. We want the girls to be in kindergarten before they get a lil sibling. And if that goes well, havin’ a fourth, when the third one is ‘bout two or three.” Angie idly picked at her nails. “It’s a couple more kids ‘n I planned on, but Stan loves bein’ a dad so much. And I love havin’ a big fam’ly.” She rolled her eyes. “And even though the girls were a bit rough on me fer the nine months they lived in me, it wasn’t as bad as I was worried it’d be.”

“Yes, so, what is it like to be pregnant?” Ford asked. Angie eyed him.

“Them drugs are somethin’ else, huh.”

“I do feel a bit strange,” Ford conceded. “You didn’t answer my question, though.” He paused. “But maybe you did. If you’re willing to go through it two more times, it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Angie said, shaking her head. “Spoken like someone who won’t ever have to worry ‘bout bein’ pregnant. It ain’t no walk in the park. I mean, I couldn’t exactly take walks in the park when my feet swelled up.”

“Really. What else did the pregnancy do to your body?” Ford asked. Angie looked at him, perplexed. 

“Stanford, yer my brother-in-law, yes. But that don’t really give ya authority to know my medical history.”

“We’re family,” Ford cajoled, the words slurring together. Angie adjusted his pillows again. “You can tell me.”

“I can, but I won’t. Anyways, seems like yer ‘bout to pass out. Get yer rest, Stanford. If yer still curious ‘bout pregnancy when ya wake up, I’ll fetch the books Stan was given by my older brother.” She stroked his head. “Sleep well.”

 

“Annnnd…done,” Stan said as he wrapped a hair tie around a clump of dark brown curls. “You’re all ready to go, kiddo.” Daisy, who had sat patiently on the floor while Stan braided her hair, jumped up eagerly. She kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Daddy!”

“You got it, sweetie,” Stan replied, poking her nose. Daisy giggled and ran off to play building blocks with Danny and Tate. Stan leaned back on the couch with a sigh. “Ford, those pain meds kickin’ in yet?” he asked idly. There was no response. “Stanford?” Stan looked over. Ford was sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently at a blue sippy cup in front of him. He reached out a hand to touch the cup, seemingly engrossed by the cartoon characters decorating the sides. Stan raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Ford, that’s Danny’s drink, y’know. If ya want juice, you need to get your own cup.”

“Mm,” Ford mumbled, not looking away from the cup, which was half-full of apple juice from breakfast. When Ford didn’t say anything, Stan prompted him.

“Do you want juice, Ford?” After a moment, Ford shook his head slowly. “All right. If ya do, lemme know.” The phone rang. Stan stood up, groaning quietly. He walked over and picked up the phone. “This is Stan speakin’.”

“Stanley, did Stanford ever get ahold of you?” Ma Pines asked abruptly. Stan blinked, startled.

“Uh, yeah, Mom. He’s actually gonna be stayin’ with me for a bit.”

“Okay, good. He called me to get your number, but never followed up. And you never called to tell me anything about him, either. I got worried!” 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Stan mumbled. He cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, I was about to call ya.”

“Don’t lie to your mother.”

“No, I really was!” Stan protested. Danny looked up from her blocks to stare at him. Stan winced, suddenly realizing how juvenile he had just sounded.

_And in front of my kids and nephew…oops._

“What would make you suddenly wanna pick up a phone to call me?” Ma Pines demanded. Stan rubbed the back of his neck and turned away from his daughter’s judgmental gaze. 

“My, um, my wife said I should,” Stan muttered. 

“Your what?”

“My wife. Her- her name’s Angie.”

“You got married?! When did _that_ happen?”

“1978,” Stan replied quietly. There was a pause. “Uh, Mom?”

“You got married _four years ago_ and didn’t tell your mother?!”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

“You didn’t invite me!”

“I didn’t want Pops to see the invitation and come,” Stan said quickly. “So I told Angie that you, uh, you weren’t around.”

“‘Weren’t around’? Stanley Pines, did you kill me off?” Ma Pines asked, in a low tone that suggested she was barely keeping her anger under control.

“…Yeah,” Stan said reluctantly. “And, uh, also my- my last name isn’t Pines anymore. I took Angie’s last name,” he added quickly.

“Huh.” That last tidbit of information seemed to take Ma Pines by surprise, calming her anger for the moment. “Well, that’s certainly something.”

“The reason behind it is…complicated. But Angie had no clue you were around, or she woulda called you by now. She- she wanted me to say that. She even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.”

“Hmm.”

“I think you’d like her. Angie’s, uh, her family calls her a firecracker.”

“She’d have to be, to be able to handle you.”

“Yeah…” Stan looked down at his feet. “There’s one other thing I need to tell ya.”

“And what would that be?” Ma Pines said cautiously. Stan winced, well aware of how poorly his mother would take the news.

“You’ve got two granddaughters,” Stan said. He fought the urge to go hide in a bomb shelter somewhere.

“What?!” Ma Pines yelped.

“Twin girls. Danica Viola and Daisy Leigh. They’re about three years old now. Funny story, actually, Angie was still goin’ to college when she got pregnant, so her kids went to her graduation. Well, they’re her kids but they’re also mine. I helped make ‘em,” Stan said.

_Stop, Stan. You’re rambling._

“Danica and Daisy.”

“Yes.”

“You waited until my granddaughters were three to tell me about them?!”

“I-”

“Your address hasn’t changed since we last spoke, has it?”

“No, I-” Stan felt someone tug at his shirt. He looked down. “What is it, princess?” he asked Danny. Danny pointed at the front door, which was wide open.

“Uncle Ford’s gone,” she said quietly. Stan’s heart stopped.

_Ford’s gone. He’s a grown man that had brain surgery two weeks ago and is on a serious pain med high. Shit shit shit._

“Uh, Mom, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said into the mouthpiece, his voice shaking slightly. “Gotta situation over here.”

“With twins, there’s always a situation,” Ma Pines said idly. She hung up the phone. Stan blindly slammed the phone in the general direction of the hook for a few times before he got it right. 

“Good eye, Danny,” Stan said. He fought back his panic and scooped Danny up in his arms. “Daisy, Tate, come on, we gotta get shoes on! We’re gonna go on a Ford hunt!”

 

Angie opened the door to the room they set aside for children separated from their parents at the zoo. Jim, one of the people who worked admissions, walked over to her quickly.

“I got a page sayin’ I needed to pick someone up?” Angie asked. Jim nodded.

“Yeah, uh, this guy’s your brother-in-law, right?” Jim said, pointing to a man sitting on a bench. Angie sighed. 

“Yes. That’s him.”

“So do you wanna take him home or…?”

“I’ll call my husband in a minute. Thanks, Jim,” Angie said. Jim nodded. Angie walked over to Ford and took a seat next to him. “Stanford?” Ford looked at her, a wide grin stretched across his face.

“Hello, Dr. McGucket!” he said in a very loud voice. Angie stifled a groan.

“Did ya take yer meds today?” she asked. Ford nodded. “And after ya took yer meds-”

“I left!” Ford said cheerfully. He scoffed. “I don’t need to be nannied by my twin brother. Especially given that _he’s_ the younger one.” Feeling something tugging her pants leg, Angie looked down. She blinked at the goat chewing on her slacks.

“Stanford, do ya know this goat?” she asked slowly.

“Yep! Rented him.”

“Why?”

“Well, Apple is _clearly_ not a dog,” Ford started. “For one thing, he knows about my connections with Bill. This is excruciatingly obvious.”

“How do ya know, did Apple tell ya or somethin’?” Angie asked idly. Ford frowned.

“No. I didn’t ask. I should ask.”

“No, ya should _go home_.” Ford shook his head. “Stanford, ya can’t stay at the zoo all day. Why did ya come here in the first place?”

“So that the goat I rented could meet the other goats!” Ford chirped. Angie frowned.

“What?” she asked. Ford looked around carefully and then leaned closer to her.

“I’m here to free the other animals,” he said in an exaggerated whisper. Angie stared at him, perplexed.

“With…the goat?”

“The goat is my accomplice.”

“Uh-huh. I’m goin’ to call Stan. He’ll come pick ya up.” Angie stood up. Ford tugged at her shirt desperately.

“Don’t leave me alone with them!” he said. Angie looked at the people he was pointing toward. She sighed.

“They’re ‘bout six years old. I highly doubt they’ll mug ya and steal the goat, darlin’.”

“You don’t know!” Ford protested. Angie groaned.

“Just stay put while I call Stan! Then I’ll come and protect ya from the children.”

“And the goat.”

“Yes, I will protect you _and_ the goat.”

 

“How did your dog even reach the shelves?” Ford asked. Now officially a month post-operation, Ford’s pain medication had decreased to a more manageable dosage. He was relieved to have his mind clear again, even if that meant he had to pick up some responsibilities. For example, he was keeping an eye on the three children while Stan cleaned up the bathroom.

“It’s a weird dog,” Stan said with a sigh.

“Not only did it dig through the bathroom trash, but it somehow knocked over all the shampoo bottles.”

“Don’t need a play-by-play, Sixer.”

“I’m just impressed by your dog’s appetite for destruction.” The doorbell rang. 

“Ford, get it, would ya?” Stan asked. 

“On it.” Ford got up from the couch and opened the door. He was face-to-face with two men, both of whom had very large noses. The shorter one squinted at Ford with gray eyes.

“Yer not Stan,” the stranger said.

“Uh, no. May I ask who you are?” Ford asked. The man opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he was interrupted by a shout.

“Unclute!” Daisy shrieked happily, running past Ford to grab onto the man’s leg. The man chuckled.

“Hey there, munchkin,” he said, crouching down, picking her up, and standing again. He poked her belly. “Gosh, yer bigger ‘n bigger each time I see ya.” Daisy tugged on the man’s dark hair. 

“We gotta new uncle!” she said exuberantly. She pointed at Ford. “He’s our Uncle Ford!” The man smiled at Ford.

“Howdy, the name’s Lute, the feller standin’ by me is my older brother, Harper.”

“So this is the mysterious ‘Ford’,” Harper said. He pushed his rectangular glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Howdy.”

“Uh, hello.”

“Who is it?” Stan called.

“Two men named Lute and Harper!” Ford replied.

“They’re Angie’s older brothers, let ‘em in,” Stan said. Ford stood to the side. The brothers filed in. Harper made a beeline for Danny, who was building a very complex vehicle with her Legos. 

“Howdy, kidlet,” Harper said gently. Danny beamed at him and, like her sister, embraced her uncle’s leg. Harper laughed. “Yer just as clingy as yer ma used to be.” Danny squeezed her uncle’s leg tighter. Ford could see the family resemblance between Angie and her brothers. Not only did all three have the same nose, but they had similar cheekbones, and Harper’s hair was the same color as Angie’s. 

“So, Ford, I heard ‘bout who ya are,” Lute said. Ford turned. Lute had put Daisy down and was now staring at him, his arms crossed. “Yer relation to Tate, fer one thing.” At the sound of his name, Tate looked up from his picture book. 

“Uncle Lute?”

“Oh, hey kidlet. Didn’t see ya there,” Lute said. Tate shrugged. “Don’t worry, you ain’t in trouble. Yer dad is, though.”

“Okay,” Tate said, turning his attention back to his book.

“In my defense-” Ford started.

“Don’t care,” Lute said abruptly. “Ya didn’t contact yer college roommate fer so long. That’s yer own dang fault. So is not tellin’ his fam’ly what happened to him.”

“Look, I-”

“Don’t bother arguin’ with Lute,” Stan said. He walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. “Lute’s too dang stubborn to change his mind ‘bout anything.” Stan smiled at his brothers-in-law. “Hey, Lute, Harper. Good to see ya again.” Lute frowned at Stan.

“I ain’t happy with ya either, Stan.”

“Neither of us are,” Harper said. “Ya lied to our baby sister.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly.

“Yeah, I know I did a pretty shi- cruddy thing,” Stan said. “But at least she knows now.”

“The only reason she knows is ‘cause yer twin brother showed up out of the blue,” Lute pointed out. “Ya weren’t even plannin’ on tellin’ her! Is the Pines fam’ly just full of- of dishonorable men?” 

“…‘Dishonorable men’?” Stan asked. “Now I’m too amused to be scared of ya, McGucket.” Lute crossed his arms.

“What else am I s’posed to call the two of ya?” Lute asked.

“To be fair, our older brother Shermie is, by all accounts, a decent guy,” Ford put in. Lute raised an eyebrow.

“So he must’ve taken up all the decentness when he was born then, huh?” Lute said. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Look, I get that you guys are upset,” Stan said. “But we’re brothers now, right?”

“Right,” Harper said after a beat.

“Maybe cut me a bit of slack? And I guess Ford, too. He didn’t know about Tate.”

“He should’ve,” Lute said immediately.

“I’m not disagreein’ with ya,” Stan said. 

“Thanks, Stan,” Ford muttered. There was a clatter from the kitchen.

“No, Gompers!” Danny said, detaching herself from Harper’s leg. She padded over to the goat, who was digging through the trash it had just knocked over. “Bad goat,” she said, patting him on the back. Lute and Harper stared.

“The goat’s new,” Lute said idly.

“Yeah,” Stan said, walking over to the latest mess to pick it up. He shoved the goat’s head away from him. “Ford rented it when he was on a pain med bender. Somethin’ about proving Apple’s a chupacabra. Of course, since Apple’s a dog, _not_ a Mexican demon, nothin’ happened.” Stan glared at Ford. “Then Apple and the goat had to go and become friends, so the kids freaked out when Angie and I tried to return it.”

“Uncle Ford got upset, too,” Daisy said helpfully. 

“Oh yeah. We had to buy the darn thing so that the literal children and my adult twin brother wouldn’t cry,” Stan finished. Ford flushed.

“Stanley, please.”

“Hey, Daisy’s the one who brought it up. You got a problem, talk to her,” Stan said, setting the trashcan upright again.

“Uh, pain med bender?” Lute said slowly. 

“Uncle Ford’s brain was broked,” Danny supplied, now hugging Gompers. “Doctors fixed it, but he was a bit funny after.”

“Stanford, you had brain surgery?” Harper asked. Ford nodded.

“Yes. Nothing too concerning, although it was decreasing my quality of life immensely,” Ford said. Stan scoffed.

“‘Nothing too concerning,’ he says,” Stan muttered under his breath.

“If you’d told us, we would’ve been easier on ya,” Lute said.

“…Oh,” Ford said, unsure of how to respond.

“When Uncle Ford ran away, he got ice cream without us!” Daisy said.

“Well, that’s just rude,” Lute said to his young niece. 

“Yeah, Ford escaped when I turned my back for two minutes,” Stan explained. “He bought an ice cream cone, rented a goat, and went to the zoo.”

“Why would ya bring a goat to the zoo? Zoo’s already got those,” Harper said, taking a seat on the couch. Lute joined him.

“The goat was my accomplice in freeing the animals from the petting zoo,” Ford said. He let out a small chuckle, remembering the blissful ignorance of his scrambled mind. “It all made perfect sense at the moment.”

“It always does,” Harper said sagely. 

“So how long are you two gonna stay?” Stan asked as he finally finished picking up the scattered pieces of trash. “Ya have to stay for dinner. Angie’d be upset if she missed ya. But if you wanna stay overnight, you’ll have to camp in the living room. Ford’s got the guestroom.”

“Oh, no, we were just plannin’ on comin’ down fer a friendly scoldin’ and yellin’ session,” Lute said breezily. “Don’t want to impose.”

_Apparently the McGuckets have a different definition of “friendly” than I do, if scolding and yelling qualifies._ As though he could read Ford’s mind, Lute turned to Ford.

“Now, this is a friendly session, trust me. If it weren’t, you’d prob’ly be in tears.”

“After the things I’ve seen, not much can bring me to tears,” Ford remarked. 

“Aside from separating a goat and a dog,” Harper said, raising an eyebrow. 

“In my defense, they had befriended each other. What sort of monster would break apart such a lovely relationship?” Ford replied. Lute and Harper both chuckled. Stan caught Ford’s eye and winked. Ford knew what Stan would say later.

_“See? Ya freaked out over Tate and the McGuckets. But ya didn’t need to. They’re good people, and even you can be a charmer when ya try to.”_

 

Ford handed Tate his backpack.

“I’ve packed some pictures I took in the field, as a treat,” Ford told his son. “Not- not the edible kind of treat. Please don’t eat the pictures.”

“It’s okay, Dad, I know,” Tate said calmly. He cocked his head. “What are they of?”

“Our, ahem, mutual friend,” Ford said with a wink. Tate’s eyes widened.

“Bigfoot?”

“The one and only. Well, actually, there is more than one bigfoot. There are whole societies of them, and Gravity Falls has one in the nearby mountain range.”

“Wow. Will you take me there? Please?” Tate begged. The doorbell rang. Ford smiled.

“If your mother gives me permission to take you next summer, or even sooner, absolutely,” he replied. Tate beamed. The doorbell rang again. “I should get that. It’s your mother, no doubt.” Ford walked over and opened the front door. Jenny McGucket smiled politely.

“Stanford. You look well.”

“I feel better than I did last time we spoke.”

“Clearly,” Jenny said. She peered past Ford. “Tater Tot! You ready to go?”

“I need to say goodbye to folks first,” Tate said, running out of the living room. He zipped into the girls’ bedroom, where Stan was helping Danny and Daisy get dressed.

“Did Tate have a good time?” Jenny asked Ford. 

“I believe so. He’s quite the smart boy.”

“Yes, he is. I’m awful proud of him,” Jenny said. “The two of you got along all right?”

“Yes, we did. And actually,” Ford said, deciding to be upfront, “I’d like to talk custody with you sometime.”

“Custody?”

“When Fiddleford returns, I assume the two of you will maintain primary custody. But I’d like to have Tate during the summer, at least,” Ford said. “The lion’s share of my research is done then, and Tate has shown a vested interest in my work.” Jenny bit her lip. “What? I thought you’d be happy that I’m trying to be an involved father.”

“Oh, I am. It’s just that…I’m not sure if you’re ready for it quite yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“You watched him for about a month and a half. And you had help, from Stan and Angie, who both have more experience in childcare than you do. On your own, in a different state, for three whole months? I’m sorry, Stanford, I just don’t think you can handle it right now.”

“Tate is-”

“Very well-behaved, particularly for a child of his age. But he’s still a child.” Jenny smiled apologetically. “Maybe we can begin the custody conversation after Fidds comes back. It’s just- Stanford, were you _ever_ left alone, in charge of the kids, during this entire time? Even for ten minutes?”

“…No,” Ford conceded. 

“I’m sorry to hit you with this right now,” Jenny said quietly. “So soon after your surgery.”

“It’s been seven weeks; I’m not an invalid anymore,” Ford said, bristling. 

“All right,” Jenny said after a moment, in a decidedly neutral tone. “Tater Tot, we have to get going!”

“Coming, Mom!” Tate called, running back to the front door. “Dad, I need to say goodbye to you, too.”

“Oh. Of course.” Ford crouched down for a hug. He squeezed his son tightly.

_Don’t think about how long it might be before you see him again. Don’t do it._

“Goodbye, Tate,” Ford said quietly.

“Bye, Dad.” Tate broke off the hug and beamed at him. “Next summer, we’re gonna go find bigfoot, right?”

“We’ll see,” Ford said with a weak smile. 

“Bye, Stan, thank Angie for me, will ya?” Jenny called.

“Yep!” Stan shouted back. Jenny and Tate left the house, Tate making a small wave at Ford as he walked away. Ford closed the door and leaned against it.

“Damn,” Ford whispered. 

_I can’t believe I’ve grown so attached to Tate, given the short amount of time that I’ve known him. Maybe Fiddleford will be able to convince Jenny about the custody arrangement. …No, that won’t happen. Not after what I did._ Ford’s musings were cut short by his nieces rocketing down the hallway, shrieking at the tops of their lungs.

“Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!” Danny and Daisy yelled, racing through the living room and into the kitchen like twin tornadoes. Despite himself, Ford cracked a half-smile at their innocent enthusiasm. Stan followed his daughters at a more languid pace. 

“Okay, gremlins,” Stan said, picking up his daughters and putting them in their chairs. “Breakfast, it is. Today is Leftover Wednesday. On the menu, we have leftover hashbrowns, leftover pancakes, fruit, and toast. What’ll it be?”

“Corn stuff,” Daisy said promptly.

“Did I say corn stuff was on the menu?” Stan asked.

“…No.”

“It’s Leftover Wednesday,” Stan reminded her.

“Leftover corn stuff,” Danny suggested. 

“There’s never any leftover corn stuff. You monsters eat it like a plague of locusts,” Stan said, exasperated. 

“What’s that?” Daisy asked. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s when a bunch of grasshoppers eat all the crops and don’t leave anything behind,” Stan explained. 

“I’m not a grasshopper!” Daisy protested. 

“No, you’re pickier than one. If you two don’t make up your minds soon, I’ll choose for you,” Stan said.

“Fruit!” Danny yelled.

“Cakepans!” Daisy shouted. Stan winced slightly at his daughters' loud voices, but carried on.

“Hot or cold?” Stan asked.

“Cold,” Daisy said.

“Got it. An order of fruit and an order of pancakes comin’ up,” Stan said. Ford, who had been watching the exchange idly, frowned. 

_Hmm. That’s certainly an idea._

“Uh, Stan?” Ford said, after Stan had given his daughters their breakfasts. Stan walked over.

“Yeah?”

“Could I- could I babysit the girls sometime? So that I have more experience in taking care of children.”

“This is a joke, right?” Stan said. “Sixer, leave the comedy to the pros.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“You really wanna babysit my demon spawn?” Stan asked. “You’ve been around, you know that the two of ‘em are hel- heck on wheels.”

“Yes. I’ve seen the chaos they seem to court, but I’ve also seen the methods you use to calm them down,” Ford said. “Anyways, isn’t it my responsibility as an uncle to help supervise?” Stan eyed him.

“I’ll talk to Angie about it,” Stan said after a moment. “Right now, go do your physical therapy.”

“Very well,” Ford said. 

_It’s not much, but given how protective Stan is of his children, it’s a start._ Ford walked into the kitchen and took a seat next to Danny, who beamed at him. Stan placed a sheet of paper and a comically large pencil in front of Ford.

“What’s the task for today?” Ford asked, carefully picking up the pencil. He frowned at the tremors in his hand, which were not brought on from caffeine. Rather, decreased mobility and usage of his dominant hand was one of the surgery’s side effects, along with slurred speech. At his six week follow-up appointment, Ford had mentioned to Dr. Carmichael that, despite no longer using the pain medication, it seemed like he still was experiencing the medicine’s sedative abilities. 

_“You’ve had this since the operation?” Dr. Carmichael asked._

_“Yes, from the pain medication,” Ford replied. Dr. Carmichael shook her head._

_“No. These symptoms are from the surgery.” She took out a piece of paper and began to scribble on it. “I’ll recommend you to a physical therapist and speech therapist, who will likely give you exercises you can do at home.” Dr. Carmichael handed the paper to Ford. “These are temporary, but only if you go through the therapy.”_

_“Understood.”_

“You’re doing a drawing today,” Stan replied.

“What am I drawing?”

“As many plants as possible,” Stan said. 

“Daddy! Gotta go!” Daisy shrieked suddenly, rocking back and forth in her chair. Stan’s eyes widened.

“All right, kid, let’s do this,” Stan said, picking Daisy up. He ran to the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, Stan returned, holding Daisy again. Ford looked up from his shakily-drawn lilies.

“How’d it go?” Ford asked. Stan beamed.

“Daisy’s gettin’ closer to losin’ those nasty diapers. Aren’t ya?” he cooed at his daughter. Daisy giggled, clearly proud of herself. “Can’t wait until I’m done with ‘em.”

“You’ll be dealing with them again, though,” Ford pointed out. Stan frowned.

“What?”

“Don’t you and Angie have plans for more children?”

“Well, yeah, but not for a while, Sixer, geez. Don’t scare me like that. I thought you found a positive test in the trash or somethin’.”

“Unlike your dog and goat, I don’t dig through the garbage,” Ford retorted, returning to his drawing. 

“Yeah, and whose fault is it that I have a goat?” Stan said. The doorbell rang. “Saved by the bell, Poindexter.”

“Sure,” Ford mumbled. As Stan went to get the door, Ford focused on his exercise, carefully etching out a lopsided daisy. 

“Pretty,” Danny said quietly. Ford smiled at his niece. 

“Thank you, Danny.”

“My goodness, Stanley, why is your hair so long?” a familiar voice said. Ford’s heart leapt into his mouth. He turned. Standing at the front door was someone he knew very well. Stan seemed shell-shocked; he took a solid two minutes to croak out his startled response.

“M-Mom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't notice, I've increased the number of chapters in this fic. Even with the super long chapters I've been writing, I can't get everything I want done in just six, so there will be seven chapters now.  
> Also, one of the ways this AU deviates from canon is that Ford and Stan reunite in July of 1982, rather than some undisclosed winter month. I literally just decided that today, lmao. Ford shows up a few days after Danny and Daisy turn three (their birthday is July 4th).  
> The next chapter has some good family stuff, naturally. I'm pretty excited about it. I hope you liked high Ford this chapter; he was so fun to write.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	6. Family Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning: Some homophobic language near the end of this chapter.**

Stan stared at his mom. Gigi Pines stood in front of him, adopting a posture that broadcast nothing but discontent. Her red-painted fingernails tapped against her crossed arms. Stan swallowed nervously.

“Well? Why is your hair so long?” Ma Pines asked in a clipped voice. 

“Uh…m- my wife likes it in a ponytail,” Stan finally fumbled. 

“She does, does she?”

“Yeah.”

“Who are you?” Daisy asked bluntly, staring at Ma Pines almost territorially. Ma Pines’ disgruntled demeanor was wiped away, replaced with an excited energy she reserved for young children. She smiled indulgently at Daisy.

“If I had to take a guess, I’d say I’m your grandma, sweetheart.” 

“No, you aren’t,” Daisy said flatly. 

“Daisy,” Stan said, “she’s right. This is your Grandma Pines.” 

“Grandma Pines?” Daisy repeated.

“You bet,” Ma Pines said. Daisy wrinkled her nose. 

“Is there other grandmas?” Daisy asked Stan. 

“No. You’ve got a Grandma Pines and a Grannie Gucket, and that’s it,” Stan informed her. Daisy nodded thoughtfully.

“Okay. Good. That’s enough.”

“Are ever going to invite me in?” Ma Pines asked. Stan stood to the side. 

“Oh. Right. Uh, come on in, Mom.” Stan looked over at the kitchen. “Ford, Mom’s-”

“I’m aware,” Ford interrupted. He got up from his chair. “Mom, it’s good to see you.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ma Pines retorted. “I haven’t seen either of you in years!”

“I’ve been busy with my research,” Ford said. Ma Pines pursed her lips. “…Although a phone call wouldn’t have been difficult to do,” he mumbled as an afterthought. 

“ _Your_ hair is strange, too,” Ma Pines said suddenly. “Do neither of you use a mirror?”

“Uncle Ford got his brain fixed,” Danny piped up. “So his head is fuzzy now.” Ma Pines smiled indulgently again, catching sight of Danny at the kitchen table. 

“Is that right, honey?”

“Actually, yeah, it is,” Stan said. “Ford had brain surgery a few months back.”

“Brain surgery?! And no one told me?” Ma Pines demanded. 

“It’s not something to be concerned over,” Ford said. Ma Pines glowered at him. “…Although any kind of surgery is worth mentioning,” Ford muttered. An uneasy silence fell. It was quickly broken by Daisy.

“Grandma Pines?” Daisy asked. Ma Pines looked at Daisy, beaming.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Like your hair,” Daisy said brightly. 

“Aren’t you the charmer!” Ma Pines gushed. Daisy grinned. “Your dad said you’re three?”

“Me ‘n Danny,” Daisy corrected.

“Of course.”

“Wanna meet Apple?” Daisy asked. 

“Apple?” Ma Pines said.

“Our dog,” Stan explained. “The girls named it.”

“The goat, on the other hand, Stanley insisted on naming,” Ford said, sitting down again to resume his physical therapy.

“What, did you wanna name it, Sixer?” Stan asked. Ford rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, I would love to meet Apple,” Ma Pines said kindly. Daisy squirmed free of Stan’s grip and landed on the floor, then ran off to get the dog. “Where’s your wife?” Ma Pines asked. 

“Ya showed up during her one weekday off,” Stan said. “But she got asked this morning to consult on some sort of experiment, so she’s not here right now.”

“Ah. And what does she do?”

“Ma’s science!” Danny chirped enthusiastically. 

“She’s a biologist,” Stan explained. “Angie studies reptiles and amphibians.”

“That explains the pictures on your walls of creepy-crawlies,” Ma Pines said. 

“I don’t think they’re creepy, though a lot of ‘em do crawl,” a voice said. Everyone looked at the front door. Angie had come home. “I think they’re rather cute. It’s why I studied ‘em, after all,” she continued. Angie beamed at Ma Pines and held out her hand. “Mrs. Pines, it’s a pleasure to meet ya.”

“Oh, like I told you over the phone, call me Gigi,” Ma Pines said firmly, ignoring Angie’s outstretched hand to embrace her instead.

“‘Over the phone’?” Stan asked. Angie grinned deviously at him. “Ang, what did you do?”

“Well,” Angie said, once Ma Pines had finally let her go, “yer mom called back, the day ya had yer conversation. Ya were busy corrallin’ the lil ones and Stanford, and I picked up the phone.” Angie smiled at Ma Pines. “We both agreed it was high time fer the girls to meet their paternal grandma, and fer you and Ford to see her again.”

“You decided to ambush me with my mom?” Stan asked. Angie nodded. “Heh.” Ford looked at his twin.

_That’s it? One “heh”? Why isn’t he more upset? His wife went behind his back._

“You’re sneaky, Dr. McGucket,” Stan continued. He looked Angie up and down in an appraising manner. “I appreciate that.”

“I know. Ya told me that on our third anniversary.”

_…What happened on their third anniversary?_

“We’re even now, though, right?” Stan asked. “This makes up for the, uh, lyin’ and stuff?” 

“No, Stanley, this don’t make it even,” Angie said somberly. “It was years, hon. Years of the lyin’ and foolin’.” She cracked a half-smile. “But I ain’t goin’ to punish ya no more.” Stan smiled at his wife. 

“Thanks, babe.”

“I can’t be mad at ya forever, darlin’. I love ya too much.”

“Ick!” Danny proclaimed loudly. 

“I agree,” Ford said. Stan rolled his eyes. 

“That’s sweet,” Ma Pines gushed. She pinched Stan’s cheek. “Look at you, my baby boy, all grown up, in a loving relationship with two adorable kiddies.” A serious expression settled on her face again. “You’ll let me know when your little girls become big sisters, right? I want to meet my next grandkids before they’re three years old.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, rubbing his cheek where Ma Pines had pinched it.

“If he didn’t, Angie would probably skip the metaphorical doghouse and put him in a literal one,” Ford said. Stan glowered at him.

“Speakin’ of dogs,” Angie said smoothly, “looks like Miss Daisy’s back with the hound.” Daisy happily skipped down the hallway, Apple trotting by her side. 

“What a well-behaved pooch,” Ma Pines said. 

“We didn’t have time to train a dog,” Angie explained, “so we got the one what was showin’ good behavior at the shelter.”

“This is Apple!” Daisy chirped, patting Apple’s back for emphasis. “Uncle Ford thinks Apple’s not dog, though.”

“He does?” Ma Pines asked, looking at Ford. “It sure looks like a dog to me.”

“Yes, but-”

“All that time in Gravity Falls, studying kooky creatures warped your big brain a bit, didn’t it, Stanford?” Ma Pines said. 

“In a way,” Ford conceded after a moment. Ma Pines shook her head.

“What was the name of your assistant up there? Something with Fiddle in it, right?”

“Yes.” Ford could see Angie stiffen out of the corner of his eye. 

“He’s not gonna have to get brain surgery, too, is he?”

“I, ah, I don’t believe so,” Ford said carefully. 

“Where is he, by the way?”

“In Gravity Falls.”

“He didn’t come down to see his boss recover from brain surgery?” Ma Pines pressed. Angie made a slightly strangled noise.

“It’s- perhaps we should change the subject,” Ford said. 

“Why?”

“Ford and his assistant stopped workin’ together a few months ago,” Stan said. “Mutual thing, decided they wanted to research different stuff, yadda yadda yadda. But still a bit raw, y’know.” 

“…Fair enough.”

“Gramma Pines?” Danny asked. Ma Pines looked at her granddaughter.

“Yes?”

“Wanna see Apple’s tricks?”

“I would love to.” Danny slid off her chair and padded over to Daisy and Apple. She adopted a serious frown on her face and stared at the dog. 

“Apple, sit.” Apple didn’t move. “Sit,” Danny said more firmly. She placed a hand on Apple’s nose. Apple licked her. “That tickles!” Danny giggled. “Aw, good doggie!” Danny patted Apple’s head.

“He’s good dog,” Daisy said happily, embracing Apple. Ma Pines smiled.

“And knows his tricks well, clearly.”

“Yeah!” Danny and Daisy said together. Ma Pines chuckled. 

“I’m getting some déjà vu here, Stanley,” she said. “These two rascals are a lot like you and Ford at that age.”

“Cuter, though,” Stan said. Ford nodded.

“Yes, definitely cuter. And less prone to getting into trouble.”

“Sixer, how long have ya been sleepin’ in the guest room?” Stan asked. “You know that’s not true. You’ve seen ‘em in action.”

“Ma ‘n Pa call ‘em the Twister Twins,” Angie informed Ma Pines. “Always racin’ ‘round makin’ noise and breakin’ things like tornadoes. Makes me wonder how we’ll keep track of ‘em when they get older.”

“If you ever want tips on how to raise twins,” Ma Pines said.

“I might take ya up on that. These two ‘re the first McGucket twins ever.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Danny, who had been rolling on the floor, still giggling over Apple’s continued insistence on licking her, suddenly let out a wail. “Oh, no, baby, what’s wrong?” Angie asked, crouching by her daughter’s side. Danny sniffled.

“Hurt m’ hand,” Danny mumbled. 

“She slammed her hand against the wall by accident,” Ford said. 

“Oh, my lil sugar-cube,” Angie cooed. She picked Danny up and began to rub her back soothingly. “We got to be careful when doin’ horsie play, ‘member?”

“Hurts,” Danny said quietly. 

“I know, I know,” Angie said. “How ‘bout we look at yer booboo while yer daddy gets Grandma Pines settled in, okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said, her voice muffled by Angie’s tight embrace. Angie looked at Stan.

“Darlin’, can ya-”

“On it,” Stan said, picking up Ma Pines’ bag.

“Thank you. Come on, honey-bun, let’s go see what happened,” Angie said as she walked away. 

“Uh, Mom, you’re gonna be stayin’ overnight, huh?” Stan asked. Ma Pines nodded. 

“Not for too long, though. Just a few days.”

“Okay.” Stan looked at Ford. “Ford, would-”

“I’ll sleep on the couch, so that Mom can have the guest room.”

“Thank you, Stanford,” Ma Pines said. 

“I’ll go ahead and show ya where the guest room is, then,” Stan said. He took a step, then stopped. “Mom, when you left, did- did ya tell Pops why?” Ford’s eyes widened.

_Shit! I didn’t even consider that possibility!_

“I might not be a genius like your twin brother, but I’m not an idiot, Stanley,” Ma Pines said shortly. “Your father thinks I’m visiting your Aunt Gidget.”

“Okay, good. Thank- thanks, Mom. I- I don’t want him to find me.”

“Stanley, why do you think I haven’t torn you a new one yet?” Ma Pines asked. “I know you had a pretty good reason to not contact your parents.” She sighed. “I’m of the same mind, to be honest, honey. I don’t want Filbrick to meet your daughters.”

“Or Tate,” Ford muttered. He grimaced. “That wouldn’t go well.”

“Who’s Tate?” Ma Pines asked. 

“Ford’s son,” Stan said. Ma Pines’ jaw dropped. “…We’ll talk about it after you’re settled in.”

 

Ford frowned intently at his handwriting. It had gotten much better, but still wasn’t close to something he was satisfied with. 

“Ow!” Ford looked over. Stan must have walked into the living room at some point while he was practicing. His twin was sitting on the couch, holding a pile of white fabric. Stan let out a hissed intake of breath and shook his hand. “Son of a-” Stan muttered.

“What are you doing?” Ford asked.

“The girls wanna be princesses for Halloween,” Stan replied. Ford blinked.

“It’s October already?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. Time certainly flew.” Ford ran a hand over his fuzzy skull. His hair seemed to be taking its sweet time growing back after the surgery.

_Danny and Daisy adore it like this, though. So, it could be worse._

“To be fair, ya spent most of the time here either sleep-deprived or high as hell,” Stan said. “That’s a pretty good way to lose track of time.”

“I suppose,” Ford conceded. “Stan, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Makin’ the girls’ Halloween costumes, genius,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.

“You…make their Halloween costumes?”

“Store-bought costumes are a pyramid scheme run by the government.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Whether it’s true or not-”

“It’s not.”

“-it just works better for the girls to wear homemade costumes like this. Gives me somethin’ to do, and makes sure the costumes aren’t too big or small or itch,” Stan finished. 

“You dote on your children to no end,” Ford said. Stan shrugged.

“Eh.”

“I assume that’s a dress, then?”

“Yup.” Stan held up the costume. Now that it was more visible, Ford could see it was the distinct cut of a pop culture princess dress, with patterned flowers running along the hem. Ford raised his eyebrows.

“I’m impressed. That’s actually quite good craftsmanship.”

“Should be. I’ve gotten a lotta practice,” Stan said, pretending to brush off the compliment and dropping the dress into his lap. But he couldn’t hide his small, proud grin from Ford. “Even before the girls were born, if we needed some clothes repaired, I had to do it.”

“…Why?”

“Angie’s scared of sewin’. One of her older siblings told her a horror story about a sewing needle when she was a kid, and it terrified her.”

“What was the horror story?”

“Angie doesn’t even remember. But, I dunno, some things that mess ya up as a kid end up messin’ ya up forever,” Stan said. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Ford mumbled, thinking about Crampelter.

_The first time I met my nieces, I wanted to hide my polydactyly from them. Toddlers!_

“Stan,” Ford said quietly. Stan looked up, surprised by the change in Ford’s tone. “Daisy. With her polydactyly, you won’t-”

“As far as my little girl knows, havin’ eleven fingers is just as normal as havin’ ten,” Stan said. He clenched the fabric of Daisy’s costume. “I won’t let _anyone_ hurt her for bein’ who she is, Stanford.” Ford sighed, relieved.

“Good.”

“Anyways, while Angie’s out and about, she said she was gonna grab costume stuff for us,” Stan said, abruptly changing the topic.

“By ‘us’ you mean…”

“Her, me, and you.”

“I don’t need a costume,” Ford said quickly. 

“What? Ya don’t wanna celebrate Halloween?”

“Forgive me if I’m not terribly fond of the idea of following your family around while the girls trick-or-treat.”

“Trick-or-treat? Nah, we don’t do that yet.”

“Then why the family costumes?”

“The zoo throws a shindig every Halloween. Open to the public, but ya have to sign up months in advance, and even then, you’re not guaranteed to get in. But all the employees and their families come to it.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s a decent time. The girls always have a blast. But, y’know, Angie and I mostly go there to make nice with her bosses.”

“Pardon?” Ford asked, not sure he’d heard correctly.

“Angie and I show up with our cute kids, and have polite small talk and cocktails with the people in charge of her salary. No big deal.”

“I supposed I’m just startled that you’d suck up like that. You and Angie are so proud.”

“Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do,” Stan said defensively. “We impress Angie’s bosses, and they give her a raise, or extra sick leave, or dental. Yeah, neither of us really like it, but, y’know. We’re not exactly livin’ paycheck to paycheck, but we’re not really rollin’ in dough either.” Ford stared at his twin.

_How did I not realize? Between the four of them, they only have one income._ A hot coil of guilt uncurled in his stomach. _And I’ve been staying with them for months, cutting into their finances._

“I- I should reimburse you,” Ford burst out. Stan frowned at him.

“What?”

“I’ll write a check, to make up for you spending your hard-earned money on me.”

“Stanford, what the _fuck_ are you talkin’ about?” Stan asked, whispering the swear instinctively. “You’re family, Sixer. Don’t pull this.”

“I owe you.”

“No, ya don’t. And anyways, didn’t ya just admit that Angie and I are proud? We won’t accept it.”

“I need to repay you somehow.”

“How about you repay us by helping to get Fidds back?”

“…I was going to do that regardless of the debt I owed you.”

“You _don’t_ owe us any debt, dammit. Just- just drop it, Ford, okay? We won’t accept handouts or charity or- or pity money.”

“It’s not-”

“No, it is,” Stan snapped. “We’re _fine_. The only time things have ever gotten tight was when I first quit my job. And that was just ‘cause we had to adjust to havin’ smaller paychecks comin’ in.”

“But-”

“Sixer, I will punch you if you don’t let it go,” Stan warned. Ford huffed.

“Stubborn ass.”

“Takes one to know one,” Stan retorted, resuming work on Daisy’s dress.

 

Ford absentmindedly stroked Apple, who was curled up asleep in his lap. After the surgery, Apple’s interactions with him had drastically improved. 

_Almost as though the dog sensed the severing of my tie to Bill._ Ford looked down at Apple. The dog let out a small huff. _Hmm…_

“I recognize that look on yer face, Stanford,” Angie said. She was sitting on the living room floor with her daughters, carefully guiding them through basic music theory. “Yer thinkin’ strange thoughts ‘bout my dog again, ain’t ya.”

“…Perhaps.”

“He’s a dog. A mutt. Nothin’ special ‘bout him ‘cept for how good he is at comfortin’ folks.”

“He stopped treating me like a threat after my surgery,” Ford said. 

“True. It’s almost like ya were too weak to pose any sort of danger to his pack,” Angie said. 

“I’m recovered now, but he hasn’t returned to his original behavior.”

“Mm-hmm. Similar to how animals act nice to ya if they’ve spent time with ya.”

“You’re never going to let it go.”

“I’ll let it go when you do, Stanford,” Angie said. She turned her attention back to the sheet music on the floor. “Girls, this here’s what we call middle C.”

“Why?” Danny asked.

“It’s the middle note in a piano, and it’s the tone what’s named the letter C.”

“Is this really beneficial?” Ford interjected. “Stan’s still teaching them their letters. All this is going to do is confuse them about what letters are.”

“My fam’ly did this exact thing with me ‘n my siblin’s,” Angie said firmly. “It’s best to start music trainin’ young. The method works.” She looked at Danny with some minor concern. “Although Danny _has_ been mixin’ up a few of her letters lately.”

“Not my fault!” Danny protested. She crossed her arms and looked away. “Letters run ‘way sometimes.”

“…They what?” Angie asked.

“Run away. Don’t work right,” Danny said. Angie let out a small, worried sigh. 

“Are they doin’ it right now?” Angie asked. Danny nodded. “We’ll put away the lessons, then. I’ll ask yer gran and gramps what they think, since I ain’t quite sure what yer talkin’ ‘bout, sugar-cube.”

“Perhaps you should get their other grandmother’s opinion,” Ford suggested. Angie raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh?”

“This sounds similar to what Stan complained about a lot when we were children.”

“So she’ll grow out of it?”

“…I don’t know if Stan ever stopped having this particular problem,” Ford confessed. “He very well might have just stopped voicing it.”

“Hmm.” Angie sat back, her facial expression carefully guarded. Ford identified it as the look she had when she was holding something back. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said finally. Ford nodded.

_That’s the closest thing to a concession I’ll get from her._ The front door slammed open, hitting the wall with enough force to knock down a photograph of an axolotl.

“Angie, we have to move. Immediately,” Stan said, standing in the doorway with a wild look in his eyes. Angie crossed her legs. 

“What’s yer reasoning?”

“He found us.”

“Who found us? I thought we dealt with yer amoral old friends already.”

“Not Rico.”

“Then who?” Angie asked. Stan didn’t answer, instead opting to close the door and run down the hall into one of the bedrooms. Angie stood. “Stanley, who?”

“I’ll get the girls’ stuff packed!” Stan shouted.

“Stanley McGucket, you tell me right now who it is what’s got ya in such a tizzy!” Angie demanded. The doorbell rang.

“Don’t answer it!” Stan yelled. Angie sighed. She walked over to the door. “Seriously, Angie, don’t-”

“Hello, sir,” Angie said politely, opening the door. 

“I’m looking for Stan Pines.” Ford froze. “I saw him come in here.”

“How do ya know him?” Angie asked. 

“I’m his father.” 

“...Oh. Well, I’m afraid that he’s indisposed at the moment, and-”

“Who are you?” Filbrick asked Angie.

“-if ya come back later,” Angie continued, “I’m sure we would love to have ya visit.”

“I’m only in town today,” Filbrick rumbled. “Let me in.”

“Sir, I-” 

“Let me in. _Now_.” Ford couldn’t help but marvel at how Angie refused to wilt under Filbrick’s disapproving glare. If anything, she was emboldened by it. She stood straighter.

“No one gets entry to this house without permission,” Angie said firmly. At the sound of footsteps, Ford looked back at the hallway. Stan had walked into the living room again.

“Angie,” Stan said. “Let him in.” Angie looked back and forth between Stan and Filbrick, before reluctantly stepping to the side. “Hello, Pops.” Filbrick looked his son up and down before making a noncommittal grunt.

“You’re married, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“Didn’t know I needed to.”

“Bullshit,” Filbrick muttered. Angie frowned.

“Mr. Pines, I would appreciate it if ya watched yer language ‘round my daughters,” Angie said in a clipped voice. 

_What all has Stan told her about Pops? She clearly knows enough to not like him._

“Daughters?” Filbrick repeated. He looked around, his gaze eventually landing on Danny and Daisy, who were sitting on the floor staring at him with wide eyes. “Stanley, you never told me about your kids, my grandkids?”

“…It never came up,” Stan said. Angie glanced at Stan. She was clearly unnerved.

_Stan’s a natural liar. But Pops has a way of making even him slip up. If Angie didn’t have a reason to be concerned, she does now._

“Hmph.” Filbrick crouched down. Danny continued to stare unabashedly at him. Daisy cocked her head. 

“Who ‘re you?” Daisy asked.

“Your grandfather.”

“Hmm.” Daisy seemed to be considering it. She shrugged. “Maybe.” Filbrick tensed. 

“Daisy’s just bein’ silly. Aren’t ya, sweetie?” Stan said quickly.

“Yeah,” Daisy said with a nod. Pacified, Filbrick stood up again.

“I assume you’re supporting your wife and children?” Filbrick asked. “You have a job, right?”

“Uh, no, not- not really,” Stan mumbled. “Angie’s the one with the job.” 

“What are you, queer?” Filbrick rumbled. Angie stiffened. 

“Sir!” Angie snapped, her tone teetering on the edge of being rude. “I do not allow that sort of derogatory language here!” 

“Your wife wears the pants, huh?” Filbrick said, ignoring her. “You’re just as much a fag as your twin.” Angie took a step forward, a righteous fury raging behind her eyes. 

_Shit._

“Always the flatterer,” Ford remarked. He stood. “Pops.” He tried not to quail underneath his father’s stern gaze.

_You’ve faced down far worse things than Filbrick Pines._ Ford fought back the regret of drawing attention from his father. _This is better than allowing things to progress. Angie would have escalated things. From what she’s told me, she would have felt obligated to._

 

_It was a few days after Tate had come to visit. He and the girls were napping while Stan took Apple on a walk. Angie was idly flipping through one of her field books. From his spot on the living room couch, Ford glanced at his sister-in-law. She looked up._

_“Somethin’ on yer mind?” Angie asked._

_“Oh, uh, no,” Ford mumbled, looking back down at his journal. It was open to a page he’d begun work on since his arrival, cataloging Stan’s family and the attempts to sever his link to Bill. Angie closed her book._

_“Come on, Stanford. Yer not as good at lyin’ as my husband, and I can tell when even he’s holdin’ back.”_

_“Didn’t he lie about both me and our mother for years?”_

_“Ah, well, I weren’t as good at seein’ the lies when he told me those,” Angie said breezily. She cocked her head. “What’s goin’ on with you?”_

_“I suppose I’m just- I’ve just been thinking about your innate knack for parenting,” Ford finally blurted out. Angie’s eyes widened. She laughed._

_“Innate? Stanford, parenting is just like anything else. It’s a skill. Ya got to cultivate it. When I started out as a mom, I was terrified all the time. Made a lot of panicked phone calls to my parents.” Her smile wavered. “‘Course, all that got worse with my big helpin’ of baby blues I got from the girls.”_

_“Baby blues?”_

_“…Never mind.” Ford was surprised by Angie’s sudden clamming up. He was used to her being an incredibly open individual._

_“Your parents helped you a lot, then?” he asked. Relief crossed Angie’s face._

I made the right choice, not pursuing her reticence.

_“Oh, yes, indeed,” Angie said. “They’re ‘bout the best parents I’ve ever known. Stan and I relied on ‘em a lot to help us through the first six months or so.” She shook her head, hiding a grin. “Pretty sure Stan’s tryin’ to emulate my pa.”_

_“That’s not a bad thing,” Ford interjected._

_“Sure, it ain’t. But I don’t want him to be someone he ain’t. Stan’s a fantastic dad without impersonatin’ my pa.”_

_“It’s no surprise that he wanted to mimic your father. We never had a proper father figure to give us an idea of what to do. From what I’ve heard, your father is perfect.”_

_“No one’s perfect, Stanford,” Angie said with a sigh. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear._

_“Your parents accepted Fiddleford,” Ford pointed out. Angie froze. “I- was- I just committed another faux pas, didn’t I?”_

_“Ma ‘n Pa could’ve handled Fidds better,” Angie said after a minute of silence._

_“From what Fiddleford told me-”_

_“Sure, they did a good job. They accepted Fidds right away, even if they didn’t understand, and that’s the important part.” Angie looked away, her gaze distant. “But that don’t mean Fidds wasn’t a bit nervous ‘bout…they call it ‘comin’ out’, right?”_

_“Yes. And even under ideal circumstances, given the political and societal climate, there’s always a fear about coming out.”_

_“Sure, sure. But Fidds…” Angie took a breath. “My parents never openly condemned the language we heard sometimes. Even in a small town like Gumption, you get a fair number of folks what are dif’rent, and growin’ up, all of us kids heard them- them bad words. The ones what taste sour on my tongue. And not the good sour, like lemons, the bad sour, like after ya ate somethin’ bad and hacked up yer guts fer hours. Them words what start with ‘Q’ and ‘F’.”_

_“I know which ones you’re referring to,” Ford said softly._

_“Figured ya would,” Angie said. She shifted in her chair. “My folks, before Fidds became, well, Fidds, they never said anything about those words. They were never aggressive ‘bout any of it, but they made it very clear they didn’t approve of the, ah, ‘homosexual lifestyle’. Sure, after Fidds told me he was my big brother, not my big sister, they changed their tune. Ma ‘n Pa wouldn’t let any opinions or negative thoughts get in the way of lovin’ and acceptin’ all their kids. But it happened slowly. And it happened awful late.” Angie exhaled. “And they really should’ve explained things to Lute ‘n me.”_

_“What do you mean?” Ford asked._

_“I was just a lil kid. Twelve. Lute was ‘bout fifteen, fourteen, so he had a bit more wisdom and experience than me. But I didn’t understand anything. I knew my sister was actually my brother, and we had to call him by a different name now. But that was it.” Angie frowned. “I asked. Never got any answers. I spent too long bein’ scared and worried, ‘specially after folks started tossin’ those nasty words at Fidds. Ma ‘n Pa were so busy tryin’ to protect me and Lute from the complications of the world, that they just made us more unhappy than we would’ve been if someone had just told us what was goin’ on._

_“Stanford, most parents are better ‘n yours, or at least I’d hope they are. But even though Ma ‘n Pa are fantastic and lovin’ and just in general top-notch, they ain’t perfect. They had a million opportunities to make the transition easier on their kids, and they didn’t. Because they were still hung up on their preconceived notions.”_

_“…Fair enough,” Ford conceded._

She must trust me, to give me this information. _Rather than fill him with warmth, however, Ford felt dread begin to set in._ I don’t deserve that kind of trust.

_“That’s somethin’ Stan ‘n I are doin’ dif’rent,” Angie whispered, now staring at a picture on the wall. The photo was of Stan and Angie holding the girls, apparently during Angie’s graduation from college, given her robe and tassels. “From the start, we’re lettin’ our babies know that there ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ dif’rent. And that there are people who are very dif’rent, but that’s who they are, and they deserve our respect. The girls know bits of what Fidds’ situation is. Once they’re old enough, we’ll tell ‘em all of it. But fer now…they wouldn’t be able to even comprehend why folks would shun Fidds.” A strange, almost fierce, glint appeared in Angie’s eye. “And those girls won’t ever hear nasty words without us speakin’ up, lettin’ the world and our daughters know how nasty those words are.”_

_“You’re trying to be better than your parents.”_

_“That’s every parents’ dream,” Angie said with a small smile. “That yer babies do better ‘n you did. It’s what you want. So you make mistakes. That way, they don’t have to.”_

 

“Stanford,” Filbrick said shortly, drawing Ford out of his reverie. He looked his son up and down. “What the hell are you doing here?” Angie took a step forward, but was stopped by Stan, who hissed something in her ear. She nodded.

“Girls, let’s go to yer room and read some fairy tales,” Angie said. Danny and Daisy hopped up. Angie took a hold of her daughters’ hands, cast one last glare in Filbrick’s direction, and left. Ford resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief. 

“I’ve been staying here with Stan for a few months,” Ford answered. Filbrick raised an eyebrow. “I had a medical problem arise, and Stan offered for me to stay with him and his family while I recuperated.”

“Hmph. You’re not as good a liar as Stan,” Filbrick said. Ford’s blood ran cold. “Why are you _really_ here?”

“I needed help. Stan gave me said help.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t come crawling back to your no-good twin. He doesn’t even have a job. You’re better than that. You’re better than _him_ ,” Filbrick rumbled. Stan looked away. Ford stood up straighter.

“Actually, I’m not,” Ford said flatly. “Pops, I’ve made mistakes just as bad as Stan’s. The motivation that drives me to make those mistakes is different than his, and my mistakes are of a different nature. But they are still mistakes. Stan isn’t the only one who has inadvertently torn apart familial relationships.” Filbrick didn’t say anything. “Despite what you may say, I’m no better than my twin, and he’s no better than me.”

“You really think you’re not better than a high school dropout?” Filbrick asked. 

“Education level doesn’t-”

“Than an unemployed man?”

“Child rearing is a-”

“Than someone who leeched off of you your whole life?” Filbrick thundered. 

“I am not a better man than Stanley is,” Ford said quietly. 

“Well, the rest of the world doesn’t agree with you!”

“All right, that’s it!” Stan snapped suddenly. “Pops, I can handle you dissin’ me. I can handle you breakin’ my spirit down bit by bit. But I won’t let ya spread this- this fuckin’ _poison_ in my house. You pitted us against each other from the start, to see who you would throw your weight behind. As a father, how the _hell_ did you justify that? I have two beautiful daughters, and I just- I can’t understand how you would do somethin’ so damn awful to your own kids.”

“You have a lot to learn about fatherhood, Stanley,” Filbrick said. Stan crossed his arms.

“Yeah. But not from you.”

“Boy, you-” Filbrick started.

“He’s right,” Ford interjected. “You’re a shitty father. I can’t believe it’s taken almost thirty years to tell you that, but it’s true. Do you have any clue how much you messed us up, with your refusal to be impressed, and favoritism based on how much money we could make you? Do- do you even care?” In a split second, Ford’s face was stinging and his ears were ringing. He gasped, more from shock than pain.

_And here I was, thinking that I might avoid getting hit by him, now that I’m an adult._

“Fuck off,” Ford spat instinctively. Filbrick raised his hand again.

“You’re gone,” Stan said flatly, grabbing Filbrick’s shirt collar. Filbrick turned a brick red. “Look, I don’t know what you expected when ya came here. But clearly, _you’re not welcome in this household_ ,” Stan snarled. Ford could see the glee in Stan’s eyes as he threw Filbrick’s words back at him.

_He’s enjoying this. Then again, so am I._

“Leave. Get out.”

“You can’t just-” Filbrick blustered.

“ _I can._ Leave before I drag your ass outside myself.” Stan let go of Filbrick’s shirt and crossed his arms. Filbrick opened his mouth to say something, but thought better. Stan followed him to the doorway. 

“It was nice seeing you,” Ford said in a faux cheery voice. 

“Oh, and by the way, Pops, I’m not Stan Pines anymore,” Stan said with a grin. “I took her name.” There was just enough time for an astonished expression to form on Filbrick’s face before Stan slammed the door closed. “Holy shit,” Stan whispered. He leaned against the door. “My hands are shaking.”

“Mine as well,” Ford said quietly. He groaned. “Oh- oh my- I told Pops to fuck off. I’m so dead.”

“Maybe we can get side-by-side plots, then, ‘cause I’m dead, too,” Stan said. Ford let out a small laugh. “Worth it, though.”

“Definitely.” Something about the scene, whether it was the adrenaline from facing down an opponent, or the giddiness of teaming up with Stan, felt familiar. A wave of nostalgia washed over Ford.

_It’s like we’re in high school again._

“I- I should tell Angie he’s gone, before she brings out her favorite shotgun,” Stan said finally. Ford watched him leave the room.

_Not exactly like being in high school again, I suppose._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this chapter was a _long_ time coming. Sorry for the extended delay. I started grad school this fall, and it's been a lot of work, so this sort of stuff has taken a backseat. Expect Chapter 7, aka the FINAL CHAPTER, in November.  
>  As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


	7. Loose Ends

“Uncle Ford, Uncle Ford, look!” Danny yelled. Ford smiled indulgently at his niece.

“I’m looking, dear. That dress is very pretty,” he said. Danny beamed from ear to ear.

“What do we say?” Angie asked from the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Danny said dutifully. It was Halloween, and Stan’s family was getting ready to go to the zoo.

“Do a twirl,” Stan suggested from the bathroom, where he was adjusting his costume. Danny spun in a brief circle, her dress fanning out from her, showcasing Stan’s careful stitches. Ford clapped politely.

“Brava,” he said. Danny’s grin grew wider.

“Where’s your costume, Uncle Ford?” Daisy asked. She was in the kitchen with Angie, watching her mother pack snacks into her purse. 

“Need a costume to come!” Danny added. 

“Ah, well, I won’t be joining you,” Ford replied.

“No,” Danny and Daisy whined together. 

“You _need_ to come,” Danny complained.

“ _Please?_ ” Daisy begged. Ford sighed.

_Dammit. There’s no way I can resist them when they join forces like that._

“Fine, I’ll come,” he said reluctantly.

“Yay!” Danny and Daisy cheered. 

“You better get dressed, then,” Angie said. Her queen costume fit like a glove, and meshed well with her innate grace and excellent posture.

“No costume,” Ford insisted. 

“The girls weren’t jokin’. Ya need a costume to get in,” Angie said. Stan came out of the bathroom. Ford had to admit, Stan made a good king.

_Both in terms of pulling off the costume, and his protective instincts._ Stan still maintained his goofy nature from childhood. But as I’ve come to realize, when push comes to shove, he can be…almost regal. Stan let out a loud belch. _Well. “Can” is the key word there._

“Goodness, darlin’,” Angie said. “That costume looks so dang good on ya.” Stan grinned.

“Daddy, you’re shiny,” Danny squealed, rushing over to her father and embracing his leg tightly. Stan let out a chuckled and picked her up.

“You bet,” Stan said. Danny began to play with the fake medallions on Stan’s costume. Stan looked at Ford. “Go ahead and get your costume on, so we can leave.”

“I don’t have one,” Ford protested. Stan shook his head.

“No, ya do. Angie picked it up, remember? It looks a lot like mine. But not as good. I mean, I’m the king. You’re the king’s brother, whatever you call that.”

“A prince,” Angie and Ford said together. Stan shrugged. 

“Whatever,” Stan said. Ford eyed Stan’s costume, which was more detailed than he’d care to put on. 

“I’ll put on…the sash and crown,” Ford said after a moment. He looked at Angie. “Would that be sufficient to be allowed in the zoo?”

“Technically, yes,” Angie said. “But it ain’t in the spirit of Halloween, y’know.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Don’t mean ya can’t have fun dressin’ up,” Angie retorted.

“Dressing up in costume isn’t my idea of a good time.”

“Yeah, but we’re not gonna watch _Star Trek_ ,” Stan said. “Just get ready so we can go and the girls can get candy.”

 

Ford watched a large tropical fish lazily swim past. At the zoo, he was primarily following Stan, Angie, and the girls like a lost puppy. Currently, they were at the aquarium, and while Stan and Angie showed off the girls, Ford was admiring the piscine exhibits. 

_Angie and Stan seem to be having a good time. The girls definitely are. They’ll be coming home with a whole store’s worth of treats._ He sighed softly. _I do wish Angie’s coworker had not referred to me as “Goat Guy”. But I supposed that’s a hazard of bring a goat to the zoo while effectively stoned._ Stan broke off from Angie and his daughters and joined Ford. The two watched the fish for a few moments in silence. Finally, Stan cleared his throat.

“You, uh, you like these fish?”

“I don’t have any strong feelings about them,” Ford replied idly. There was a disapproving _tsk_ behind him. He and Stan turned. Angie was standing there, a hand propped on one hip and Danny propped on the other. She frowned at Stan.

“Unless ya got kicked out over fish, ya best change the subject.”

“Do we really have to do this now?” Stan protested. “I mean, we’re in public, we’re celebrating Halloween with the kids.”

“Yes, it has to happen now,” Angie said with a firm nod. “The longer bad blood ‘n grievances sit without resolution, the more likely they are to fester. Clean yer house, dear.”

“At least there’s free booze here,” Stan muttered.

“That’s the spirit. The girls ‘n I ‘ll be at the amphibian exhibit. Find us when yer done.” Angie took a hold of Daisy’s hand. “Say bye-bye to yer daddy and Uncle Ford, babies. They’ll meet up with us later.”

“Bye!” Danny and Daisy called as they walked away. Stan waved at them. Ford turned to his twin.

“What was that about?” he asked. Stan sighed. 

“One of Angie’s coworkers asked about you, and that turned into talkin’ about why you’re here, and _that_ turned into me tellin’ Angie we never talked about your project.”

“What project?”

“The one that got me kicked out,” Stan said in a low voice. Ford stared at him.

“You mean the science fair?” Ford asked. Stan nodded. “That was years ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Do- do we really need to talk about it?” Stan shrugged. “It’s fairly straightforward. You didn’t want me to leave, so you sabotaged my experiment, ruining my chance to attend West Coast Teach.” Stan groaned. “Stan, I’m not mad. Not anymore. If I hadn’t gone to Backupsmore, I wouldn’t have met Fiddleford, and you wouldn’t have met Angie. Neither the girls nor Tate would exist. Things worked out for the best this way.” Stan rubbed his face.

“No, I- I’m glad you’re not mad about it anymore. I got upset ‘cause you’re wrong, which means we _do_ have to talk about it.” Stan grimaced. “Dammit. I hate it when she’s right about shit like this.”

“What part of that was wrong?” Ford asked defensively.

“I didn’t wreck your thing on purpose, Stanford. It was an accident. I- I got all pissed about you leavin’, ‘cause you were a shoo-in with your weird-ass, sci-fi experiment. I knew you were gonna leave, and I didn’t want you to.”

“I know that.”

“When I went to the school the night before the fair, I yelled at the damn thing, and I punched the table, and next thing I knew, it was broken.” Stan looked away. “Shoulda just talked to you. Then everything woulda turned out different.”

“I agree, the right thing to do would have been to tell me my experiment was broken,” Ford said. Stan waggled his hand in the air in an “eh” gesture.

“Yeah, that. But also, shoulda told ya how much I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Do you think that would have influenced whether I stayed with you?” Ford asked softly. Stan shrugged.

“Dunno. But it wouldn’t have ended with me gettin’ kicked out. Actually, nah, eventually, I woulda been kicked out. Not at that moment, though.” Stan scuffed the toes of his boots against the floor. “So…yeah. That’s what happened that night.”

“If we’re talking about ways we could have handled the situation better,” Ford said, “I could have paid more attention to you. You were clearly upset about me leaving, but I ignored that.”

“It’s like Angie always says. You have to talk shit out, otherwise it hits the fan,” Stan said solemnly. “She would know. Her fam’ly actually talks to each other.”

“I’ve never met the McGuckets.”

“They’re nice.”

“I would expect them to be.” Ford paused. “I, ah, I don’t know where to go from here.”

“We talked about it, we got all introspective and shit, we’re done,” Stan said. “Angie ‘ll be satisfied.”

“Are you?” Ford asked suddenly. Stan looked at him oddly.

“…Yeah,” he said after a moment. He looked back at the fish. “Sucked, but we got it out. I’m just glad Angie didn’t trick us into talkin’ about it.”

“Trick us?”

“She does this thing to get me to talk about shit I don’t wanna talk about. She’ll start out a conversation about somethin’, and then nudge the direction of it until I slip up, usin’ it as evidence for whatever we’re talkin’ about. Angie got me to fess up about how shitty Pops is, back before the girls were born.” Stan sighed. “We found out it was twins, and I started panicking about bein’ a dad, and the next thing I knew, she was starin’ at me with those big blue eyes, askin’ why I didn’t think I’d be a good father. And I suddenly was tellin’ her all about Pops.”

“That doesn’t frustrate you?”

“I mean, sometimes,” Stan said. “Sometimes I shut it down if it’s, y’know, somethin’ I’m really not into discussing. But most of the time – and don’t tell her this – she’s right. Angie’s got this knack for leadin’ conversations in a way that ends with you explainin’ somethin’ to her that she already knows. That way, you come to terms with it better, or some shit like that. I’m pretty good at getting people to fess up, but I mix flattery with playin’ ‘em. Angie’s just a straight-up puppetmaster. Our kids are gonna be fuckin’ masterminds. I mean, Daisy’s already a shady little shit.”

“Hmm,” Ford muttered, deciding not to comment on Stan’s description of his toddler-aged daughter. He frowned. “I hope she won’t try to play me.”

“Maybe she already has,” Stan suggested. Ford froze. “Uh, Sixer?”

“Holy Moses, you’re right!” Ford exclaimed.

“Huh?”

“From the minute she saw my hands, Angie knew I was Tate’s father. She didn’t just play me, she played Jenny, too! She called Jenny while I was in the room, at a time that she knew the news would have spread, and made sure to bring up Tate, as well as offer for him to stay. That led to Tate eventually coming here.” Stan raised an eyebrow at him. “Unless…that was an outrageous accusation.” Stan thought for a moment.

“Nah. Sounds like somethin’ she might cook up.” Stan let out a bark of laughter. “God, I love that woman. Angie’s one hell of a cardsharp, too. Don’t play poker with her unless you’re plannin’ on losing your life savings. Actually, the girls exist ‘cause of a game of strip poker that ended in the bedroom.” Stan winked at Ford. “We don’t play strip poker anymore. Too easy to get hot ‘n heavy.”

“I didn’t need to hear that,” Ford said firmly. “I also didn’t want nor need to find out how your daughters were conceived.”

“Aw, come on, Sixer, lighten up a little,” Stan said, nudging Ford.

“This is like the trip to the store to purchase me new clothes.”

“When I put a box of condoms in the cart and told ya that Angie and I changed brands after the girls were born?”

“Precisely. Now I know everything except for the _position_ Danny and Daisy resulted from,” Ford snarked. Stan opened his mouth. “I wasn’t asking! Do not tell me that!”

“All right, all right. I won’t,” Stan said. He and Ford stared at the fish tank in silence for a few minutes. 

“You really did find the perfect woman for you, though,” Ford said quietly. Stan nodded. “Not many people can keep up with you, and challenge you to get better like she does.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, also in a low tone. A reserved smile spread across his face. “Don’t know how I ended up in such a good relationship. Never got any ideas on what one would be like. But I’m in one. And, Moses, I just- I know I’ve told ya before that I wouldn’t trade my life for anything in the world. But it’s- it’s so fuckin’ true, Ford. Against all odds, I’m in a good place.” Stan let out a long breath. “Now we just need to bring Fidds to that place, too.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yep. But it’ll get done. Just watch.” Ford looked at his twin, standing proudly in his king costume, a regal air about him. 

“I have no doubts that you’ll accomplish it,” Ford said truthfully. Stan winked at Ford.

“ _We’ll_ accomplish it,” Stan said. Ford smiled weakly. A moment passed. Stan coughed. “All right, now that’s outta the way, time for a drink.”

“I could use one as well,” Ford muttered. 

“I think they’re that way,” Stan said, craning his neck to the left. “Oh, but before we head over there, you gotta be careful.”

“…Why?”

“You haven’t had a drink for a while. ‘Cause of those pain meds.”

“So?”

“When Angie drank for the first time after getting pregnant, she got sloshed _real_ fuckin’ quick. And McGuckets know how to hold their liquor. Only the second time I’ve ever seen her actually get drunk. So unless you wanna have a second impression on Angie’s coworkers that matches your first impression…”

“Point taken.”

 

**Early December**

A mangy raccoon darted out in front of the Stanleymobile. Stan stomped on the brakes. The car came to a swift stop in front of the raccoon, which was now sitting in the middle of the road, idly chewing an apple. Stan honked the horn. The raccoon hissed, but didn’t move.

“Great,” Stan muttered. He revved the engine. The raccoon didn’t respond.

“It’s all right, Stan,” Ford said. “This is the place anyways.” Stan looked over at the ramshackle hut, which had clearly seen better days. Bricks were missing from the walls, and there was a visible hole in the roof. Someone had spray-painted various symbols over the boarded-up windows.

“Uh, you sure about that, Sixer?” Stan asked slowly. Ford nodded.

“Yes. Unless he’s moved since I left Gravity Falls. Which, I suppose, is possible.”

“Might as well start here,” Angie said briskly. “Darlin’, go ahead and park on the, uh, fer lack of a better word, lawn.”

“You got it.” Stan pulled onto the scrap of land, where a few wisps of brown grass were still poking through the dusting of snow. Angie got out of the car and sighed heavily. Her breath formed clouds in the chilled air. 

“I still don’t know if it was the wisest course, bringing you along,” Ford said to her. They left San Diego yesterday morning, after a prolonged goodbye between Stan, Angie, and their daughters. The girls were being watched by Marley, Angie’s college roommate.

_Who also happens to be the person who rescued me from my failed attempt to babysit my nieces last month._ After driving for about ten hours, they had stopped for the night, then got an early start the next day. Now, it was about noon, and Ford was dreading seeing Fiddleford again. _After what I’ve done…_

“It _is_ the wisest course,” Angie said firmly. “He won’t be happy to see you and if he’s as loopy as ya say, he might confuse Stan fer you. Even without that, I’m the best choice. Fidds is my big brother.” She frowned at the house. “But I can’t picture him livin’ in a dump like this. And I ain’t exaggeratin’. The dump’s right next door!”

“He’s not doing very well,” Ford said, choosing his words carefully. Angie shot a dangerous look his way. 

“Euphemisms don’t help when yer tryin’ to gauge the severity of a sit’ation.” She marched over to the door and knocked. Stan got out of the car, keeping a wary eye on his wife. Ford had noticed how Stan became increasingly agitated the more decrepit their surroundings had gotten. His twin was clearly uneasy with Angie being out in the open in a potentially dangerous neighborhood. Ford noted Stan’s hands straying towards his pockets. 

_He must have a weapon of some sort on him. A knife, maybe? Or that pair of brass knuckles he stole from the pawn shop in high school?_ Enough time went by without a response that Angie raised her hand to knock again. Before she could, however, the door cracked open.

“Banjey?” a weak voice croaked. Angie beamed.

“Howdy, Fidds.”

“Oh, my baby sister!” Angie was suddenly tackled. Stan moved forward, but was stopped by Ford.

“It’s just a hug, Stanley, relax,” Ford whispered. Stan huffed.

“You know how hypocritical that is, right? Mr. Paranoia.”

“ _Dr_. Paranoia.”

“Smartass.”

_He does have a point, though. A few months ago, I would have my crossbow out already. Maybe my paranoia_ has _gotten better._

“I’m so flattered!” Fiddleford gushed, breaking off the hug with his younger sister. Ford grimaced. The last time he’d seen Fiddleford, he had looked dingy and scruffy. But now, he resembled a scarecrow come to life more than anything else. His arms were thin and spidery, his posture stooped, and his clothes visibly tattered. Ford felt a new twinge of guilt when he realized his old partner’s hair was thinning. 

_And turning prematurely gray._

“Why?” Angie asked. Ford could tell she was barely hiding her distress at Fiddleford’s state.

“Yer visitin’ me durin’ yer winter break! Yer not goin’ home, like most college students do.”

“College students?” Angie said softly. Fiddleford nodded.

“Yer a junior out at that big fancy school. West Coast Institute of Technology. I’m mighty proud of ya, y’know,” Fiddleford said, grinning broadly. Angie blinked. “Yer classes are goin’ well, I’m sure, my smart lil sister.”

“I-”

“How’s that boyfriend of yours? Sean, right?” Fiddleford asked. Ford looked at Stan. Stan stared at Fiddleford with a confused look, his brow furrowed.

“Sean?” Stan muttered.

“He’s still treatin’ ya right? He better be,” Fiddleford continued. Angie held up her left hand. Her wedding ring glinted distinctly. Fiddleford gaped.

“He ain’t my boyfriend, Fidds.”

“Wh- when did-”

“Four years ago. You were a groomsman.”

“I- I was?” Fiddleford rubbed his eyes. “Oh! Yer- yer right. I, uh, I don’t know how that slipped my mind.” He let out a shaky laugh. Angie cocked her head, now visibly concerned. “You, uh, you’ve got those two sweet lil girls, right?”

“Yes.”

“Darlene and Dandelion, right? No- no. Donna and Daffodil.”

“Fidds,” Angie said softly. 

“What- why can’t I- I can’t quite recall,” Fiddleford whimpered. Angie took a step back, her slender frame beginning to shake. 

“All right, that’s it,” Stan said, shouldering past Ford. Fiddleford looked up when Stan joined Angie in front of him. 

“Oh! Sean!”

“It’s Stan, Fidds. You know that,” Stan said. Fiddleford let out another weak laugh.

“My mind’s a bit mixed up today, I s’pose.”

“Fidds, Angie and I brought Stanford with us. We’re gonna go in your…house, and talk about things, okay?” Stan said. Fiddleford scowled.

“Stanford Pines?” he snarled.

“Yes. The other parent of yer son,” Angie said. Fiddleford looked away. “The two of ya need to make up, if only fer Tate’s sake.”

“…Fine,” Fiddleford ground out. With that, he went back inside, leaving the door open behind him. Ford approached Stan and Angie.

“You all right, babe?” Stan asked Angie quietly. As he got closer, Ford could see unshed tears in Angie’s eyes. 

“Th- I don’t know who that is, but he ain’t my brother,” Angie whispered. 

“I know.” Stan kissed the top of her head. “You can go back in the car, if ya want.”

“No, I- I have to stay. Fidds needs me,” Angie choked out. She rubbed her face. Ford looked down at his feet.

_Why do I always walk in on their private couple-y moments?_ Ford frowned, realizing something. _I’ve never seen her get this upset before. Not even when literal criminals invaded her home and tried to take her hostage. She’s got a good, level head on her shoulders._ He looked at Angie again. She seemed to have collected herself, but was still visibly shaken. _No. I_ have _seen her this upset before. After Bill possessed me in San Diego. She was near tears._ A strange, solid feeling settled in Ford’s stomach. _Angie’s like Stan, isn’t she? Her weakness is her family. She can’t handle seeing them hurt, whether they are an estranged brother-in-law that destroyed her brother’s sanity, or an older brother that she’s looked up to her whole life. Angie and Stan really deserve each other._

“You ready?” Stan asked Angie. She nodded. “Let’s go talk some sense into Fidds.”

Ford followed Stan and Angie into Fiddleford’s house. He grimaced at the dilapidated furniture, stained and torn. Strange graffiti covered the walls, along with intermittent splatters of something red he desperately hoped wasn’t blood. Any appliances he could see in the dingy kitchen looked broken, or had wires sticking out from it like a potato battery. 

_Sweet Moses._

“Good Lord,” Angie muttered. Fiddleford brushed a collection of ratty newspapers off a couch in what must have once been a living room. 

“Take a seat, Banjey,” Fiddleford said, his voice quivering. Angie sat down. Her knee began to bounce, rapidly falling into step with Fiddleford’s own nervous ticks, after he sat on a rickety dining chair. Stan sat next to Angie and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Ford opted not to sit, but quickly regretted the decision.

_I feel as though I’m looming over everyone._

“Sit,” Fiddleford snapped at Ford. Ford sat on top of an upturned crate. Fiddleford cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’d offer y’all refreshments, but I ain’t quite sure where they went.”

“Fidds, what happened to ya?” Angie asked.

_No beating around the bush from her, clearly._

“I- I can’t recall.”

“It was the memory gun,” Ford said. Fiddleford glared at him. “It’s true.”

“Memory gun?” Stan asked.

“It gave one the ability to erase memories. Willingly or not,” Ford explained. Fiddleford’s glare grew sharper.

“I know full well what it did.”

“Fidds, can ya blame him?” Angie asked quietly. “In yer state, it seems like what ya do and don’t know is a bit…up in the air.” Fiddleford wilted.

“I s’pose yer right,” he whispered. Angie clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Banjolina, I don’t want ya to see me in this state.”

“I don’t care ‘bout that. What I care about is helpin’ ya,” Angie said. 

I knew Angie was too normal to be her full name!

“I agree,” Stan said. Fiddleford looked down at the ground. “We came to Gravity Falls to do two things: destroy that damn portal, and help you.”

“The portal,” Fiddleford whimpered. His mood abruptly switched, and his head whipped up to scowl at Ford. “It’s all yer fault! All of this!”

“Fiddleford,” Ford said, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. Fiddleford stood up, his gangly limbs trembling with exhaustion or rage, Ford couldn’t tell which. 

“I warned ya!” Fiddleford snarled. “But ya didn’t listen to me! And now- now I ain’t myself no more! I can’t remember which day is which, I- I keep forgettin’ my fam’ly’s names, and there’s a big old hole in my memory that I won’t ever get back. And it’s all ‘cause of _you_!” Fiddleford abruptly launched himself at Ford. Stan intervened, grabbing Fiddleford by the shoulders before he could reach Ford.

“A hole in yer memory?” Angie asked. Her voice wavered, like she was forcing herself to not cry. Fiddleford looked at Angie. His prickly demeanor melted away. 

“Yes, Banjey. I- the rest of the stuff, maybe I can work back. The gun, it weren’t perfect, after all. When I saw the disturbin’ things of Gravity Falls, I just made myself forget I saw it. But I could remember it, if’n it got triggered.” Fiddleford drooped. “But there’s somethin’ in my mind, somethin’ long gone. Whatever happened, it was a lot of my memories. And they ain’t comin’ back.”

“Do you have any idea how you lost them?” Ford asked carefully. Fiddleford looked up, but past Ford. Ford turned. Scrawled on the wall in red was a symbol he recognized: an eye, crossed out. And below it, the words “THE SOCIETY STEALS”.

“The Society,” Ford murmured. “I know that symbol. It’s the blind eye.”

“The blind eye?” Stan asked. “Sounds like some cult shit.”

“Sweet sarsaparilla,” Fiddleford whispered. “The Blind Eye Society. Them’s the folks that did it. They got to be.” He clenched his hands into fists. “Traitors!”

“Traitors?” Angie said. She gasped. “Fidds, you got mixed up in a cult?”

“I- I may have started it,” Fiddleford mumbled.

“Fiddleford!”

“It didn’t start out like that, I swear!”

“How did it start out, then?” Stan asked. Fiddleford scrunched up his face.

“I- I don’t recall.”

“That old chestnut,” Stan muttered. He shook his head. “Whatever. Okay. Fidds, they’re your old crew, so you’ve gotta know where they meet, right?” Fiddleford scratched the top of his head.

“Um…maybe.”

“Why do ya wanna go after a cult what wipes memories?” Angie hissed. 

“He said his memories return if he’s reminded of them, right? If he sees the secret headquarters or whatever, maybe that’ll bring back the rest of his memories,” Stan said. 

“That’s a solid deduction,” Ford said after a moment. 

“Gee, thanks, Sixer.”

“And while we’re at the base, we could figure out a way to dismantle the Society,” Ford suggested. Stan nodded.

“Good thinkin’.” 

“Once Fiddleford can give us an area to start our search, we’ll head out,” Ford said. He clapped a hand to his face. “No, that wouldn’t work!”

“Why not?” Angie asked.

“The portal needs to be destroyed.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No,” Fiddleford and Ford said together. Angie blinked.

“The longer it is functional, if not actively operating, the higher the chances of it being turned on by someone whom Bill has possessed,” Ford explained.

“Not to mention the dark energy what gets released while it’s still standin’,” Fiddleford added. He broke into a small smile. “Well then, lookit that. I ‘membered somethin’.”

“Okay, Stan and Ford can go over those cult folks,” Angie said, “and Fidds ‘n I ‘ll take care of the portal.”

“No,” Stan said immediately. Angie looked at him. “If we split into pairs, I’m not leavin’ ya.”

“Stanley, this better not be from the whole ‘circle the wagons, protect the women’ mindset,” Angie said.

“What would make ya think that?” Stan asked, sounding insulted.

“I’ve seen yer body language since we got up here. Yer nervous ‘bout me bein’ out ‘round this town. Not only is it a tiny lil place, but I can take care of myself!”

“I know you can,” Stan insisted. “Hell, when Bill possessed Ford, I might have held him down, but you knocked him onto the ground in the first place. Not to mention the whole thing with Rico and his goons.”

“Who’s Rico?” Fiddleford asked. Stan waved a dismissive hand.

“Just this guy I used to run drugs for.”

“You used to _what_?” Fiddleford squeaked.

“ _You_ started a cult. Look, Angie, I promise, that’s not what this is about, although I don’t like the idea of ya walkin’ around the woods here alone. Somethin’ about those trees seems crooked,” Stan said. “And Ford made a deal with a demon that he met here. I just- I get a bad feeling about Gravity Falls.” Angie crossed her arms.

“Tell me what this _is_ about, then,” she said. Stan cleared his throat loudly and jerked his head in Fiddleford and Ford’s direction. Angie frowned. Stan cleared his throat again. Angie’s eyes widened. “…Oh. I’ll go with ya, then." She glanced at Ford and Fiddleford. “Do you think you two gents would be all right, on yer own?”

“If we run into the cultists, at the very least, we can trigger Fiddleford's memories, then beat a hasty retreat,” Ford said.

“True enough,” Angie said.

“What’s your address, Ford?” Stan asked.

“618 Gopher Road.”

“Got it.”

“The key is-”

“Don’t bother. Gonna just throw a rock through the window. Let’s go, Angie.”

“Yup. Good luck,” Angie said to Ford and Fiddleford. Fiddleford smiled weakly.

“You too.” The front door closed behind Stan and Angie. Ford could hear the El Diablo start, then drive away. He was alone with Fiddleford.

 

“This is the place?” Ford asked, eyeing the Gravity Falls Museum of History. Fiddleford nodded. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Fiddleford said. The ride over, in Fiddleford’s beat-up old truck, had been tense and silent. Ford opened the truck door.

“Then, we should go inside.”

“Yup,” Fiddleford mumbled. Ford got to the door of the museum before he realized Fiddleford wasn’t with him. He looked back. Fiddleford was sitting in the truck, a fearful look in his eyes. Ford waved him over.

“Fiddleford, come on. The sooner we recover your memories, the sooner we can leave.”

“I s’pose.” Fiddleford hesitantly got out of the truck and made his way to Ford. Ford tried not to notice Fiddleford’s uneven gait. Ford held the door open for him. Fiddleford walked inside. 

“Any ideas on what to do next?” Ford asked. Fiddleford scratched his chin.

“I think I ‘member eyes.”

“Eyes. Isn’t there an exhibit here, full of preserved eyes and the like?”

“Yer right!” Fiddleford abruptly took off down the hallway. Ford blinked in surprise, but followed. When he entered a room lit only by a fireplace, a distinct chill ran down his spine.

_The eyes…_

“Fiddleford, I have a question,” Ford said hesitantly. Fiddleford stopped picking up jars of eyeballs. 

“Yes, Stanford?”

“I- you’re aware of Bill Cipher’s obsession with eyes.”

“…Yes.”

“Why would you make a cult-”

“It started out very non-cult-like,” Fiddleford snapped. “It was an organization devoted to helpin’ the folks of this town.”

“All right. Why would you make an organization, based upon your attempts to forget Bill’s domain, only to hide it underneath Bill’s symbol?”

“I used to know why,” Fiddleford whispered. “But all I can think right now is that it was fer the irony.”

“That could be the reason,” Ford said.

“Not the full reason, though.” 

“And, actually, while we’re being civil with each other, I wanted to-”

“There it is!” Fiddleford burst out, completely ignoring Ford. Fiddleford vaulted across the room and slammed his palm down on a stone carving placed upon the wall. Ford gaped as a staircase formed behind the fireplace.

“Who built this?” Ford asked in awe. Fiddleford frowned thoughtfully.

“I think…it was here before the society moved in. We stumbled across these chambers, ‘n decided they’d be a good headquarters.”

“Remarkable.”

“I s’pose.” Fiddleford took a hesitant step onto the staircase. 

“I can go first, if you’d prefer,” Ford offered. Fiddleford shook his head.

“No sirree Bob. If’n I let ya do that, no one ‘ll be behind me to stop me from boltin’ out of here faster ‘n a dog caught in the kitchen. Not to mention, you don’t know the way.”

“Neither do you.”

“My memories are comin’ back, bit by bit. The further I go, the more I know.” Fiddleford began to descend the staircase determinedly. “Didn’t mean fer it to rhyme.”

“I don’t mind.” Fiddleford glanced back at Ford. Ford grinned hesitantly. A small smile danced around Fiddleford’s face, before being wiped away. Fiddleford looked away again.

_Dammit._ After roughly three minutes of silent walking, Ford finally cleared his throat.

“Look, Fiddleford, I- I have to apologize.”

“Yes, ya do,” Fiddleford said shortly.

“I should have listened to you.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“But I want to make amends,” Ford pressed on. Fiddleford stopped. He let out a long sigh.

“Yer not the only one who made mistakes. Yer not the only who has to make amends. Now that I’ve calmed down a bit from seein’ ya at first, I know that.”

“So do you…”

“I’m willin’ to let bygones be bygones, if you are.” Fiddleford began to walk again. “We’re still goin’ to need to talk ‘bout all of what happened.”

“Of course.”

“But fer the time bein’, I’ll try to go a bit easier on ya. If only ‘cause this- this ain’t the time nor place fer squabbles.”

“You’re a bigger man than I could ever be, Fiddleford McGucket.”

“Obviously.” After a few more minutes of walking, Fiddleford came to a stop in front of a large door. “Here it is. The Hall of the Forgotten.”

“That sounds…ominous,” Ford said drily. Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“I- I can’t quite recall what’s in here. But I know whatever it is, it’ll return what memories I’ve lost.”

“After you, then,” Ford said. Fiddleford opened the door. Ford gaped.

“Holy Moses! What are these?” Ford asked, staring at the piles of strange tubes.

“Memories,” Fiddleford whimpered. He dropped to the ground. “Good Lord, I- these are the memories they’ve stolen- _I’ve_ stolen.” He covered his face with his hands. “I ruined so many lives, didn’t I?”

“Fiddleford,” Ford said softly. He crouched down and carefully moved Fiddleford’s hands. “What matters right now is not what you’ve done. It’s rectifying it. We’ll- we’ll find your memories, then dismantle the Society, then return the memories to the townsfolk.” Ford sat down in front of him. “We can fix this, Fiddleford.” Fiddleford looked away. “I’ve fucked up my fair share of lives,” Ford said. “I’m going to do what it takes to help you put yours back in order, and that includes dispersing any guilt you might feel for what you’ve done.” Ford put a hand on Fiddleford’s knee. A jolt ran through him, and he was suddenly in a memory from college.

_“Stanford, it’ll be okay,” Fiddleford said, joining him on his bed._

_“I completely failed that exam,” Ford moaned. “How did I do that?”_

_“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to recover yer grade, trust me.” Fiddleford placed a warm hand on Ford’s knee. “Look, I’ll help ya study next time. Ain’t nothin’ that can’t be fixed with a good old-fashioned study session!” Ford looked at Fiddleford. Despite his lighthearted tone, the air felt heavy, like there was something between the two of them._

_At that moment, Ford couldn’t think of anything more alluring than the idea of being close to Fiddleford._

The memory faded. Ford was back in the underground room. He could see conflicted emotions swirling in Fiddleford’s eyes.

“Stanford,” Fiddleford whispered. “I- I’m married.” Ford didn’t say anything. He just removed his hand from Fiddleford’s leg. “And- and even if Jenny ‘n I were to break up, I…I can’t betray my wife like that. I love her too much.”

“You’re right. I- I apologize for getting in your personal space in an inappropriate manner,” Ford said. “I’m deeply sorry, Fiddleford.”

“If we hadn’t been somethin’ long ago, it wouldn’t have been a problem. It’s that chemistry, that history, that’s makin’ this moment mean more ‘n it should.” Fiddleford put a gentle hand on Ford’s shoulder. “I get it. I know yer feelin’s and reasonin’s. But even if- even if Jenny ‘n I aren’t meant to last, I love her, and- and-”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Ford said softly.

“Ford, ya mean a lot to me, and I want to rebuild our friendship. I want to trust ya again. I’m willin’ to work towards that.” Fiddleford’s eyes stared plaintively into Ford’s. “Are you?” 

“Yes. You mean a lot to me as well.” A tense minute passed. Ford cleared his throat. “We, uh, we should find your memories.”

“Right. The Society ‘ll come back sooner or later.”

“Actually, I was thinking of Stan being unsupervised in my house.”

“He ain’t unsupervised. He’s got Angie to watch him,” Fiddleford said. He paused. “Which might be worse. That means there’s two of ‘em.” Fiddleford stood up. “Come on, partner.” He held out a hand. Ford took it with a weak smile.

“Of course.”

 

**August, 1985**

The doorbell rang. Ford opened the door.

“Hello, Stanley.” Stan grinned.

“Hey, Ford.”

“Girls, your father is here to pick you up!” Ford called.

“Get your stuff ready to go, gremlins!” Stan shouted. “Your ma and I have a surprise for you at home!”

“Ooh, okay!” someone responded from upstairs. Ford turned his attention back to Stan.

“Where’s Angie?” Ford asked. “I thought both of you were going to come pick up the girls.”

“She stayed home. We both agreed that the trip would take way too long if we had to pull over every half hour for her to throw up,” Stan said breezily. Ford frowned, concerned.

“Oh no, is she all right?”

“She’s fine. Just a bit of mornin’ sickness is all.”

“Morning-” Ford cut himself off. He stared at his twin. Stan’s grin broadened. 

“We’re due in March.”

“Congratulations!” Ford said. “You must be excited.” 

“Yeah, we are. That’s the surprise for the girls. Angie went and got them matching T-shirts that say ‘Big Sister’. She wants to break the news to ‘em that way.” Stan stuffed his hands in his pockets, his grin gone, but still radiating happiness. “I think they’ll figure it out the first time they walk by the nursery.”

“You and Angie already have a nursery set up?”

“Workin’ on it, at least. We’re usin’ the spare room that we’ve mostly just been storin’ junk in. We might eventually move, if Angie and I decide to have another kid after this one. But right now, we’ve got _just_ enough space,” Stan said. Ford shook his head, smiling.

“Stanley, seriously, congratulations. I know you wanted to have another kid.”

“Yeah.” The grin was back. “Don’t tell Angie, but I’m pretty sure this one’ll be a boy.”

“You’ve got your heart set on having a son?”

“It’s gonna happen. Just watch,” Stan said firmly. 

“Be sure to stay in contact with Fiddleford and myself. I wasn’t there for the girls’ birth, but I’d like to see my next niece or nephew when they’re born,” Ford said. Stan nodded.

“You got it, Sixer.” There were footsteps. Ford and Stan looked over at the staircase. Danny and Daisy were standing proudly next to Tate at the foot of the stairs. Danny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, in the same way her mother did. Ford fought back a grin.

_My family just keeps getting bigger._

“Ready to go?” Stan asked his daughters. Danny and Daisy nodded. “Well, let’s get goin’ then! Your ma’s waitin’ at home with a surprise!” Tate ruffled his cousins’ hair, and the girls darted outside, squealing. Stan grinned at Ford and Tate. “Later, nerds. Gotta get back to California.”

“Bye, Uncle Stan,” Tate said. 

“Goodbye, Stan,” Ford said. Stan waved at the two of them and closed the door. Tate looked at Ford curiously.

“Dad, do you know what surprise Uncle Stan was talkin’ about?”

“Apparently, you’ll be getting another cousin in March,” Ford replied. Tate’s eyes widened.

“What? That’s awesome! Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Your uncle seems convinced it’ll be a boy. But there’s a fifty-fifty chance either way.”

“I know that,” Tate said dismissively. Ford smiled at his son.

“Yes, of course you do. Let’s go give your pa the good news.”

“Shouldn’t Aunt Angie or Uncle Stan tell him?” Tate asked. Ford waved a hand airily.

“Stan didn’t tell me about the girls until they were three. Think of it as returning the favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! I know that I left some things up in the air, but that's by design. I've tied up the loose ends I want to tie up, and as for the rest...feel free to draw your own conclusions. Of course, if you ask, I'll confirm or deny things. And I might write something on my Tumblr that addresses some of the things I left hanging. But for all intents and purposes, this is where the AU ends. With Ford repairing his relationship with Stan and Fiddleford, becoming a proper father figure to Tate, and embracing the identity of the doting uncle. Not too shabby of a thing to end on, imo.  
> As always, if you have any questions or comments, leave them below or message me at thelastspeecher.tumblr.com.


End file.
